

She slept in my bed for three days while I was away.
When I returned I crawled under the covers without thinking and it was like she was there. I could smell her perfume and her body, and I wondered how she slept and what she wore. I wondered which way she faced, and how her leg was positioned when she woke up in the morning.
There was a note on the bedside table thanking me for the space and expressing sorrow that our time didn’t overlap. I wondered if she meant in the bed or just in the city, and I couldn’t sleep.
It was a week before I managed to pull out clean sheets. It was a week before I managed to write her back without saying too much.