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There’s a silence that comes with the night. It’s not a true silence but the lack of the many sounds associated with the day.

I look up at the ceiling thinking of him. He shall go unnamed.

I long for a time we once shared. We’d mostly kiss but we did other stuff as well. I miss his lips. I miss being next to him in bed. I miss his dick.

We weren’t official. We had fun but there was no commitment. Not that I was opposed to commitment with him, he was the one that didn’t want to be boyfriends.

I’m in bed, many years afterwards wondering what if we had become more than friends with benefits.

Categories: writing


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