Let it die.

I stuck around last night because I wanted to see what it felt like to know it'd be our last time. I didn't sleep well, and I moved around a lot. I noticed you did the same.

I rubbed my little feet together harder, so as to ignore the thoughts racing through my head. I knew you could feel the covers moving back and forth, as the toes from my right foot pressed and moved against the heel of my left. You always loved when I rubbed my feet. I did it automatically, and sometimes even, I could rub them in my sleep. I thought to myself, "This is the last time he'll hear me rub my feet."

I turned over on my side and you moved in closer. Habitually, you flung your arm over and pulled me in. I felt your nose nestle against my back. We'd usually lay on our backs and talk until one of us-- usually me-- decided it was time to sleep. The normal thing to do then was lean in for a kiss, and I'd flip over on my side. You'd cuddle me then and sometimes you'd feel coy and ask me to cuddle you instead.

"This is the last time he'll feel me as he sleeps."

Finally, I heard you take two deep breaths in. Very slowly, this was your routine. You'd bury your nose in my hair as I laid on my side, and slowly inhale. Once. Exhale. Twice. Exhale. While you did, I heard Love sing from your nose. She had long hair and radiated such care and beauty all down my side.

The strongest link to memory, I laid on my side and almost said out loud, "This is the last time you'll smell my scent."