I can't sleep

You know how sometimes you want to go back? You remember how beautiful that place was, and you want to go there so badly you seep the dirt from that place out of all your pores. You remember the smells of the slow-cooked soup you made for him. You remember the taste of his hands. You remember being held so you thought you were inside a cocoon, and it felt perfect, like you never wanted to leave, to grow wings. Like you wanted to be that worm in that shell forever. You remember his laugh, and you remember when that laugh changed. You remember when he stopped. And you know you can't go back but you want to anyway, shit, you can't fucking help it you just do. And he comes back for a while, and he gets right under your feet, like a cat, when you are trying to walk, and tells you how great you are, and you listen, and you hear, and you taste his hands again. But then he stops, and there you are, having forgotten your own flowers all over again. And then comes the familiar ache in your
left
index
finger.