Blinds fall, fast like you did.
White blankets are stained with fresh blood-memories,
the kind that still pulse through your heart.
Fast burning in out gone

The white consumes you, covering chin to toe,
because alone your bed is vast and frigid
and curling up under memories is
a heartbreaking warmth

You drop your tired head to the pillow,
forfeiting it to the same fate as
the rest of your blanket-wrapped body.
Memory takeover.

The memories are tyrannical, overwhelming, hot.
Still more comfortable than your unshared pillow.

Their attack begins to lull you,
to slip you into synthetic sleep worlds where
smiles exist and goodbyes don't,
but four words yank you.

Back to this world, back to wide awake, back to wondering.

His voice echoes from the emptiness.
    "I'm not going anywhere."
Alone, awake, in bed
you struggle to re-open the blinds.