i think a lot of things, but it's nothing that i'd mention

Twelve hours wrapped in your arms, and I now feel as though something is missing, now that you're away. What is this state I'm in, such that I feel almost foreign in my skin without you to keep me in it?

My head is adrift in words you spoke half asleep, half-drunk (on the alcohol or your time with me, I'm not really sure, but I suspect it was both), when you murmured how happy you were to have me with you. You confessed your secret plans to keep me forever and gave yourself away, but I don't mind, and I don't mention it. Here are the words that I am terrified to say-- after you'd fallen asleep, your arms wrapped tightly around me, I memorized the rise and fall of your chest and promised my life to you.

This is the end of so much, and yet it feels so very much like a beginning.