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My nights have been spent as a frustration of self analyzing laughter or crimson loathing, but not this one. Tonight when I lay down in my bed, contemplating the enmity of life, I hear a faint sigh and the feeble touch of his strong arms around me.

I turn around and see the shadow of my lover. Tonight he has lost all the looks of a rainbow thesis. His eyes lack the spark that he had always possessed and his face is worn out and defeated, mostly dark.

My James Dean daydream.

He forces a smile – his lips and fingers touch mine. It is a novel defeat to be with his shadow, since we had left each other, but in my loneliness I want him to lie next to me forever. Substitution wins over elimination. It’s beautiful.

Tonight I feel his kisses, without fervor. I feel his taunt curvature down my body and a hazy retreat to my advances.

He loved teasing me. This was the favorite part of our love making. I remember how he used to pin me down against the wall or on the bed with all his force and I would give in with a sweet surrender. He would smirk at me, with a spark of torturing angst in his deep blue eyes. He would kiss me with all the passion that his broken soul had to offer.

But not tonight. Tonight his gloom has infested him and has shattered his hopes.

All he does tonight is force a smile on his pretty face and pretend everything is alright. His mouth would taste of gin and peppermint.

Tonight when he caresses me, it somehow feels hollow. From his virtuous moans to his virulent movements, everything feels like a forced consummation. A ritual. But I let him do it. I desperately want him to do it.

He used to play vintage arts and sang poems after we fucked each other. Every now and then, he would tell me about Dante’s superfluous theories or about Elizabethan forbidden affairs. I would close my eyes and would  listen to his melancholy while he chanted his everlasting love in my ear.

But not tonight. All I can hear tonight is silence.

Silence that screams of my depression and despondency.

“Oh happy fields! Where did you go?”

All I want to do tonight is to embrace our last moments together. Just me and his shadow, his last remnants of surreal touch.

So I give in. I lick his sweet skin and smell his exquisite scent. I let him touch my conscience but in return he gives nothing. Tonight I no longer care for his pleasure, just mine. I feel liberated.

I dig my nails down his bare back and pull his sandy blonde hair to inflict pain to him. His face is a mask of eerie sternness and indifference. He is beautiful even in his sobriety.

I let his shadow make love to me hard and fast. I try to catch up my breath when he pushes into me, touching my deepest and darkest secrets. I scream when I orgasm. The eternal bliss of heavenly flaw. I open up my eyes to see his mournful face. But he isn’t here anymore.

I sob.

He’s not here tonight.