Blinded by the dim light, I sniffle and watch the curtain move. The flowers are dead, their petals mostly on the floor. Even if the most beautiful women in the world walked through my bedroom door wanting to do anything I had on my mind, I'd just roll over and go to sleep, hoping I wouldn't have to tell them to leave - that they would figure it out on their own.

I'd be happy I cleaned the room and maybe wonder as they left if one would stay behind, part of me wanting to be tempted. But I've been sick before. I know how useless it is to want with no energy to enjoy. It makes being sick even sicker.

Maybe the phone would ring and the love of my life would be on the other end. She'd tell me that she misses me and quiz me about what I've been up to. I'd almost tell her that I wish she was here, but realize there'd be nothing good in that. I think we've gotten stuck in what we're used to from each other, so I've grown comfortable fantasizing about things I'm resigned I'll never have.

Sometimes it sucks being in love. Like laying in bed at the hospital - and finding out they're going to have to take your big toe, or your foot, or even your leg. Life won't be the same, but it's better than dying. Life won't be the same - and sometimes living feels like too much trying.

So the bedroom door is closed, and its only me in here. The sun is playing hide and seek and I'll fall asleep before I count twelve hours worth of numbers. And somewhere in a bed I've laid in before, my lover is drowning in her dreams, no different than she'd do if she were here.

It's midnight now. There's some humming somewhere outside. There's some creaking in the walls and in the attic. The computer fan is the closest sound to me. The heat just came on and the curtain's moving again. Tomorrow's not so far away - I should close my eyes soon.