We'll always have Paris

It's Thursday already and I'm watching the sunshine spill into my room through windows which face the street I have lived on for almost a year now. The wind is lightly blowing and making the leaves that hang above my window move back and forth causing the shadows on my bed to dance. The day has been short and hot- I didn't wake up until after two in the afternoon and when I walked outside it felt like a giant magnifying glass was being held up to the sun. I felt strange today, as I did yesterday, but this estranged feeling was different- it was reminiscent more than sad.
I thought about you and how the night before together we sprawled out on the floor of your new apartment naked of furniture, lights, and memories. As much as you've been stubborn towards my attempts to break you in half and allow me to witness what has been bothering you so much, your breaths became shallow and further apart- you fell asleep after playing three songs on your computer and I was left awake beside you. After an hour of being in and out of consciousness, I woke up to leave you to your slumber.

"You're leaving?" you asked sounding disappointed and groggy. I could hear what you couldn't cover up, or didn't care to, so late into the night after such a tumultuous day. And then your arm came down like a falling tree around the area my head was resting minutes before. I didn't say anything, I didn't even attempt to move it, I just put my head on the inside of your shoulder and breathed deeply- down here, it still felt like home, and I wondered if it would ever feel that way on another arm in another empty apartment in some city far away.

Falling asleep and listening to your restless sounds and stirs, I really hoped so.