Last night I fell asleep in the middle of a sneeze, wishing I could have been awake enough to talk to you just a little bit longer. I wore your sweartshirt that nearly reaches my knees that I tucked up to my chest, cradling my stomach, waiting for the usual blood. In the night you came and asked me to move just an inch or two over, to uncurl, to make room for you. And I did, glad that you were not going to go try to make a bed on the balconey, that you would instead sleep by me. But I fell asleep before I felt you lay down, and sadly you were gone in the morning when I woke. I know you have been near me. I can feel it in my heart.