You know there was no-one in the bedroom when you felt your way
in the darkness to the toilet. They say there's a cold feeling in the air
when there's another presence in the room but you convinced 
yourself that it was natural to feel a cold chill in January.
She didn't stir on her side of the bed. You always woke up quietly.
You always slid your feet out onto the cold floor and eased the rest
of your body out without tugging the bedclothes. She never knew that
you went to the toilet three times during the night. You never told her.
You didn't want her to know that your body was beginning to show
the signs of wear.

You never flushed the toilet at night. The filling tank made too 
much noise. It would surely wake her up. She always left her watch
on the glass shelf by the sink. That's the only way you knew the time.
But you really didn't want to know the time. You always left your
own watch on the side table by your bed, in the dark where you 
couldn't read it till daybreak.

You groped behind you with your right hand and found the hot
water bottle that she had put in your side of the bed. It was tepid
now at three in the morning. You slid under the duvet and pulled it
up so that your head was covered, just enough to hide you but not 
enough to suffocate you. You turned over on your left side so that
your good left ear was silenced by the pillow. Your deaf right ear
didn't matter.

You lay there as you did every night, trying to get back to sleep.
Eventually you did return to sleep but never to the dream you were
in before you woke up.

She was always awake before you. You would wake up to the
feeling of her arm around your waist, her loins warm against the
small of your back and her lips brushing the nape of your neck. 
You always turned over and blessed your good fortune as your 
arms encircled her body and you kissed her gently on her eyelids,
the tip of her nose, and her soft inviting lips.

You always wondered what she would do that morning when you
didn't respond. That morning you were certain would come when 
she would wake up, stretch and turn around to encircle your waist
and brush her lips against your cold, cold neck. That morning when 
you wouldn't turn over to hold her. That last morning of your life. 
You always wondered about that.

You were still wondering when you realized you were awake. It 
was morning and the light was filtering into the bedroom. You had 
wakened by yourself this morning. You turned and looked over.
She was still asleep. You felt as though you had been given a gift
today. The gift of morning that she always brought to you. You 
would bring it to her.

You turned over and circled her waist with your arm. You
brushed your lips against her cold, cold neck.