3 am

It's three am and I ought to sleep. I want to sleep. But memories of you keep me lying awake. Remembering what it felt like to be held, to fall asleep wrapped in your arms, the one place I ever felt safe. The place you told me was safe.

Remembering what it felt like to need you. That physical urge tugging and tugging, molding myself closer and closer to you until finally we were one, and I was released into a spiral of love and peace and calm. 

Rediscovering love in a bed of ferns, blanketed by the sun, and feeding on each other. Holding you close to me, feeling your heart beat, and hearing you say it beat for me. 

Remembering what it was like to be loved. 

And now I can no longer feel the power of that emotion. It slips through my fingers, and I watch it go, scared it's leaving but even more terrified to try and make it stay.

Because I no longer fall asleep wrapped in your arms. I no longer feel safe. I no longer have you. And so it's three in the morning and I do not sleep. I feel, I ache, I remember.