When the sky is at its blackest, the streets at their quietest, it is then that I allow my thoughts to run to him. I envision his face, his back, his hands, his legs as clear as day as I hide behind the cloak of night. When no mirrors can expose the guilt I feel as I yearn for the caress of his hands against my naked thighs or the shiver that runs course through my body at his unwavering gaze.
The one who hurt me and of whom I should no longer care; I play a game of bygones during the day, but beneath the anonymity of the blackest nights, when even the moon hides its face, I fall weak and wander back into the solace of his arms. My unyielding love for him exposed. I suffer to feel his breath run rivers along my neck; his lips against mine; his tongue protruding the insides of my mouth in search of the answers he so desperately needs. [...]