A word of advice: do not live in the past. "What if"s only incur agony.
A years-old poem:
It's funny only afterwards you turned out the lamp
I nuzzled my cheek against your burning neck
And traced lost words on your palm with my frozen fingers
And let them dance along your spine
"I want to sleep next to you," I breathed into your safe embrace
You covered me with the blanket, because I get so cold
(Even though you love to see me naked)
And clutched my hand and sang softly in my ear
While stroking the curly strands at the base of my neck
Moonlight and shadows
You opened the window and lit up
The ones you'd saved for tonight
In the density of the clutter of your minimalist bedroom
The glowing end of your cigarette was the only light
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