The bed is a massive, gray sea, no longer with any life in it. I reach out, flayed out, whispering your name. You’re not there. I speak to you every night, my voice echoes across the gray ocean, arriving nowhere.

I’ve moved to your side since you’ve left. I dreamed that I was alone in a small boat, a dingy, awash among the waves, drifting and drifting and being pushed and pulled by the neverending gray hands beating against the boat. I’m a skeleton in this boat, left for dead.

The gulls don’t want me.

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