10:26
He sighs....the night is almost over..
A glass, four pieces of ice, a fork, chocolate syrup, and milk.
A routine far too precise for this time of night and done out of habit for reason long forgotten. As he slowly gulps, He thinks of her... with time in short hand he wonders if she is thinking of him, her last thought as she is his.
10:45
Three pillows, no socks, a made bed, and the fan on…
She’s still there pulling at his mind as he reaches for her hesitant not to reach too far. Not too far never too far, worried to seem too involved but it’s feeble with every nerve pleading to feel her touch. Every sweet word pours over his thoughts demanding his fingers to compose a sweet poetry of the scattered beauty of this mess. His feelings then beat in place by his own instinct to hold back.
11:11
Like over planning a simple task his own insecurities judging his feeling as if they had a mind of their own casting verdict on every phrase he fights an uphill battle to just move a foot forward. The responsibility of sleep tugging away at his mind and body he compromises with all of it and sends a simple message.
"Good Night you..
11:25
after the bubble pop of the message she sends back also a simple "sweet dreams" he will read and reread the message cut short only to utter after it confessing the true ending "wish you were mine".