she wakes up with a start. it is 2 in the morning and the world is still,with the air stubbornly clutching on its placidity. she closes her eyes once again and attempts to drift back to sleep. it has always been like this since he left her, waking up in the darkest part of the night and feeling his absence beside her. it is weird how a bed can hold on to memories. three years after, she can still feel the contours of his body molding the foam and his weight pressing against the other side of the bed, inevitably making her body skew towards his heavy absence. the blanket, limping its way towards the empty space, feels like a paperweight on her, pinning her in her longing. but most of all, its the pillows, still rich with the scent of his thinning hair (a mixture of pomade and the clean smell of the white Safeguard variant), that makes every closing of her eyes an ordeal. with her eyes seeing nothing and the world offering only silence for her ears, her nose much to her dismay, gropes for his scent and once found, drives it right into her brain, creating an explosion of memories far richer than the lumpy mattress can conjure. when this moment happens, all she does is lie on her side of the bed, feigning sleep and waiting for his scent to develop arms, for his contours to fill the empty space, and for the blanket to generate his heat, so that once again she would feel enveloped by his presence as if it was the old times when he was just right there beside her, sleeping.