"I miss him."
     The comforter is wrapped around me, only showing a head, arms, and shoulders sprouting from the blue mass. You're sitting indian style, one honey colored eye fixed on me, the other hidden behind a veil of black hair. Your hands are absentmindedly playing with the fabric of the sheets beneath you. Wrapping it around your hand. Unwrapping, wrapping, unwrapping. I watch you, hypnotised.
     "I do too."
     I start to feel warm, your words flow like lava over my skin. The comforter falls from my shoulders, delicate and pale. You smile slightly, softly, as if jeans and a tank top were some elegant apparel worth smiling at. I'm sitting the same way as you are now, making sure my bare feet are hidden in the tunnel of a pant leg they're staying in. I don't like my feet much.
     "But.."
     You say softly, almost breathlessly. My mouth is moving along to the lyrics of the music playing softly in the background, something by Incubus. I briefly wonder if he misses us, and your hand finds itself on my knee. I don't move. My thigh. I take in a sharp breath. My waist. I look at you, questioning. My neck. Your hands are so warm.
     "But I don't want to have to miss you."
     You kiss me, and I know it isn't exactly right. I always preferred going left, anyways.