I like it when his fingers trace the outline of my body when I lay in bed. 
Or when he blows on the back of my neck. 
I like it when he hurriedly takes off my clothes with his shaking hands. 
The way he lays his forehead against mine when he’s drunk too much. And kisses me there too. 
The way he holds me when I sleep. And grabs me closer when I shiver. 
The way he looked at me when he was happy. 

I loved scratching your beardy bits.

But I hate this all just as much because they now live on as only memories. 
Now I sleep with your ghost. Right here next to me. In the side you uses to sleep. He’s not as warm. He’s not as pretty. But he never hurts me the way you do. 


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