I did want to stay in bed, in all actuality; I haven't been sleeping well lately, and I was tired, but I wanted to stay in bed with you and lazily wake up with you in my arms. I'm fine as long I can hear the sounds of your preparation: the shower, the water running as you shave, the noises you make when you iron your clothes. But the moment you leave, however joyous it makes me when you come up to the loft, dressed and shaved and smelling divinely of lotion and after shave and shampoo, however sweet and gentle the kiss is as I lay in your bed, my hair still a mess, my eyes only half-opened, it's mysteriously heart-breaking when I hear the door close and know that you've gone to work. I'll see you tomorrow, and though it shouldn't make me melancholy, it does. The bed seems so vast, so empty; I smell your scent on the pillow next to me and I want to cry.