It really is amazing how one can be totally in love and consumed with spending time with another human and then just....not be.

I used to love being in bed with him.
Crave it.
 I used to love kissing him, feeling his lips, his tongue, his breath, his hands. Warm. Sometimes gentle, sometimes groping and passionate. I loved both. I loved snuggling up to his back and burying my face in that little cavity between his shoulde blades. I would kiss him there, sweetly, gently, lovingly. And he would half sigh, half moan like that very action was the thing that made his soul content. No matter if we had just made love, had a long conversation, or had a fight, when I curled up behind him and kissed that spot he made would always sigh like it was the first time id ever kissed him there and he'd been longing for it and me his whole life. It gave him away. How much he wanted me. How much he cared. With my arm wrapped around him, hand on his heart, face touching the skin on his back I held him. He was mine. I loved him. And I was his. I made him happy.

I knew it was over when he stopped making that sound.

I should've known anyway.