One last time

It's 11 am, the day after my birthday.
I'm in his bed.
Wearing nothing but his smell.
Wrapped around my thighs, my crotch, my neck, my torso.
I'm in his bed after 6 weeks.
Familiarity is so much deeper in sense, that sense is in familiarity.

I wake up. His eyes still moving with dreams, shut close to my face.
Is he... can he... Well, it's done. It has been. We have been - done.
But things creep in and we creep into each other.

I get up, go into his bathroom.
"Going to use his toothbrush, one last time", I think.
I do.
I stare at my face in the mirror. Probably not going to look into this mirror butt-naked ever again. Probably.
I stare out the window. It's never looked like this before. 3 years and I never saw it.
Soaked in rain the sky morphs into the sea. The sea morphs into the sand. The sand morphs into me.
I cry.
Did I forget this already? This sight. This view. This. It's never looked like this before.
I slip back under his arm. Skins kissing. One last time.

After a few hours, I wake up. He sits by doing his thing. I stare. The nose, the hair, the ear, his lips. I stare. I glare. I try to make it last forever.

I wear his t-shirt.
One last time.
Smell it, feel it, be it - his skin.

["I'll show you the world one breath at a time", she said.]

He still has the post card.

'Then walked away leaving him breathless.'

I add to it on a piece of paper. And I cry.

I want to bite him.
"No"
One last time.
"No"
Let me leave a mark on you before I go.
"No"
I go.