Crossbone style

I have been hugging a pillow for going on two years now. Since you left and moved a half mile away, you have not come back. I stayed there a few times when we were pretending, and then once in the last half year. I guess life becomes delivered to us now in the the half years.
Our legs crossed and slumbering, without a doubt, bring me comfort. I don’t feel that you have found better than me. I know that Wyoming did not work out. I know that you felt me through all of that. I know you have your doubts, but we we always will.
I spend the time that I think about these things thinking about watching movies with you, and kissing you, and, ideally, making you feel the way in which you should feel. I will not be a fool though.
I wish for your legs tonight to rub against mine. I wish that on any given night when the pillow is employed. I want more than that, though not much more. Give me tonight, stay with me. Give me a dream, as you do all of them. I will give them back. Put your feet in my hands for the rest of your life. Cry with me. Laugh with me. Sing with me.
As a hollow echo of what has been echoed before, you are all I have ever wanted. Just kiss me when you see me to let me know it is real. I can pretend for a while, but I need your love. Crossbone style. Our legs layed upon each other. Our hearts stating the obvious. Crickets make music in these instances.
I may stop writing here after this, as I have written this enough, and my words turn stale.