When you fall asleep in the late afternoon

and the curtains are parted slightly,

and the sun hits you a little bit,

but in a good way, soft and

intentional, and you are

content

at first, you are used

to yourself, and sleepy days,

but you are missing something,

you know it, you feel the presence

of its lack: no one in the flowers of your

sheets, no one in the warmth of your limbs.