Old Memories and Creaky Roofs

I remember waking up in the middle of the night. Tossing and turning, reaching for a body that was not there.
But I knew where to find you. Whenever you couldn’t sleep you would crawl out of bed and climb to the roof.
You couldn’t sleep most nights.
I couldn’t sleep without you next to me.
So, I’d join you.
We would sit in silence, just observing the night. 
Enjoying the simplicity of quiet. I never knew how much time had gone by. The sun would start to rise. Warming each inch of my skin. 
Your lips would curve and I swore you stayed up on purpose to see it rise just one more time.
Sometimes, you would wake up and gasp for air, your eyes would fly to the window, the sun already rising. You would smile and fall back asleep. 
You and I watched so many sunrises that year, I thought I saw everything there was to see.
I started to wonder why I continued to get up with you and the sunrise, when it’d be the same thing every time. Just different colors that sat differently in the sky.
You and I stopped talking. I stopped waking up searching for you. 
You mentioned to me weeks later that you stopped getting up in the middle of the night. You didn’t see the beauty anymore. You didn’t feel the warmth. You didn’t even care if the sun rose another day. You said the darkness was better anyway. You couldn’t see anyone and they couldn’t see you.
Every now and then I think of you and I, when I wake up, my lungs searching for air, my eyes snapping to the window automatically. The sun would be rising. 
The sun is still rising.


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