His sleep had a pattern. She would watch him day and night,
dreaming about their togetherness, remembering the times they were together,
how they completed each other. How his fragrance still shook her from within
and slapped her from one pole of insanity to other. She looked at him hoping he’ll
wake up and love her the way he used to. She looked at him with a dead hope,
the twinkle in her eye seemed to fade yet, the hope remained. She’d often
comfort herself in his arms, her mind wandered a thousand worlds and back. How
she metamorphosed from a restless violent river to a very silent one in his
embrace. She craved his touch on her body, his magical touch. She loved him
with all her heart yet, she wanted this to end. His sleep had a pattern. He
never woke up. He slept like a child for 10 months and she hoped, he’d wake up
one day.
