She lies awake beside him, staring into the dark,
the silence between them stretching wider than the bed.
She has tried to explain itā
the loneliness, the ache of feeling unseenā
but her words always dissolve before they reach him,
lost to work, to coaching, to the glow of his phone.
She gets fragments of him, never the whole of him.
And still, she aches for his attentionāhis touchā
anything that feels like choosing.
So she moves in the only way she knows heāll feel.
She shifts closer, pressing her naked body against his back,
hoping the warmth of her skin can say
the things she canāt.
Snaking her arm through his,
her fingertips draw slow, lazy circles around his navelā
a soft, aching plea: see me⦠please see me.
She whispers his name, voice thin and needing.
She tells him she wants himāneeds himā
and itās the truest lie she knows,
because what she really wants is to matter.
He turns to face her, gathering her into his chest.
The shock of her bare skin beneath his fingertips
floods his system,
something animalistic stirring awake.
His lips crash against hers like waves pounding rock,
pulling a symphony of moans from deep inside herā
sounds breaking free before she can stop them,
before she can remember how raw sheāll feel
when the moment ends.
She tugs at his sweatsā
frenzied, breathless, already undoneā
letting her body speak the words
sheās terrified will go unheard.











