At night is when I think of him the most. When I miss the way he touches me, talks to me, whispers love into my ear and on to the surfaces of my skin. At night I miss him the most because nights have a sharp air of loneliness about them. The dark, illuminated by amber dots of streetlights, is a harsh mistress. It teases you, taunts you with the empty space next to you in bed.
I look out of my window, down into the little cobblestone backroad where the Friday night stragglers and Saturday night lovers pass and lean against the brick wall for support when they kiss or try and get their bearings through the haze of alcohol and whatever they might have been sweetly smoking. The pulse of lust glows through the streets, the summer heat having its way with the minds and libidos of the lovers of this city.
My lover never leaves my mind. Summer heat or not, he’s always there even when he isn’t there for me to hold and taste and inhale. He’s there when I let my hands slip between the folds of my labia, dipping into the ever-growing needy wetness and stilling the throb in my clit with the strum of my fingers. He’s there in little words or moments that make me smile to myself because they make me think of his voice or his laugh.
He’s there when I spot them, at an hour of night where most of the city has given up and gone to bed. They’re giggling, staggering, pawing at each other with a lust that’s messy and almost teenage in its wantonness. I can see her, backing against the metal of the doorway across from my living room window, a doorway to a storage room at the back of the pub on the other side. I can see him, kissing her all over, her moaning with the joy of new lust, new love or just something for the night only.
Whatever it is, it makes me ache for him. So far away, only available through webcam pixels and laptop speakers. So far away and always so close.
At night is when I think about him the most. When I wish with my heart and body and soul that the day where we can be as messy and lusty and carefree as the two people outside my window is now.
At night is when I feel it grow fonder.
At night is when I feel it.
And how I wish, I always wish the daylight would break right then and there. Another day ticked off the endless waiting list. Another day closer to wild and carefree.
But until then, the view outside my window, late at night, will have to do to keep me company. To remind me that I am not alone in wanting.