Half past eight.

Awake.

It is half past eight, AM.
I want to sleep just a bit more, because you dwell into my dreams. I wanna fall back to that moment when I felt your sweet-tasting lips touching my skin, just here, between my neck and shoulder. Wanna feel your warm breath again, and your hair softly caressing my cheek. And if I could just take your strong hands and put them around my weist, as if it was the only thing I needed ; as it is all I'll ever need. I wish to catch your eyes looking at me again, and to taste your skin.
But I'm awake now, and you're gone. I will have to wait until tomorrow, half past eight, to get this strange feeling again that you have been there, next to me, touching my heart and disturbing my senses, making my hands look for your naked body lying in my sheets ; while you have not.
I'll keep chasing you every night, because these dreams are the best thing that could ever happen to me, reminding me of you, while I'm away.