I find myself standing once more over you. The moonlight has sunk into your sweat, and gleam as small orbs. Slowly I descend and I kiss you, my hands ghosting lightly over the definition of your jawline, the closed shaped of your eyes like simple crescent moons. Then I stood. I raged violently, removing small parts of myself from your life. This is the night I do not dream of the gleam of her hair or the feel of her flesh against yours--I do not hear the whispers of affection and adoration; I will not taste your disappointment and your need for what I cannot give you.