Why did you leave?

How night was ablaze with your eyes, telling me absolutely nothing but a simple joke I had heard a thousand times. A tidbit I still laughed at. I loved you for that, for absolutely nothing, maybe everything. You'd stand there on the terrace, looking down vaguely as your teeth sparkled from the light off the swimming pool next to me. For me and noone else...that smile was for me.

There were the times my pillow was kind to me. It sheltered me when I was pathetic, gave me respect in the darkness. I liked it. I fed it sometimes, spilling rosewater on the draped linens and along its spine. Testament to you, a sacrament.

I gave nobility to dust as I flung myself into the mud. Dirt caked with blood and shit wallowed in my mouth. I smiled at you in the puddle, hoping my brown ichor made you laugh, made you smile.

You did laugh. The tears down your face made me feel mine. So different the reasons...but they made me love you, so many times I felt them again in the night.

You turned, whispering "I love you so much," as if a secret whisper given in prayer. I turned inside, around you and beside you. I didn't know what love was, what anything was besides the heartbeat you gave me.

I'd say I lay stiff and cold now, like a corpse in black raiment...but I'd be a writer. A terrible writer at that. I found my solace, my peace in expression. I smear the mud on canvases, enjoying the smiles. No tears like yours, though, no laughs like yours.

I could feel warmth from them, but what do they know? Do they see anything within my face? Feel that tender hand wipe away the grime from my eyes? Those fingertips fluttering, softly smiling as they wiped it all away, leaving me, leaving you, leaving us.

Just us.

Why did you leave?

Why did you have to be just a dream?

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