Must be strangely exciting to watch the stoic squirm

Why is it that I can only cry for you in my dreams?
I whimper. I sigh. I feel this knot in my throat. But it's only in my dreams where I cry, and when I wake up I still have these dry eyes of mine.

It's strange how I can recall every single detail, more details each day that passes by. Every one of them. The acanthus in the hall, the golden light in my room, the feeling of the sofa. The taste of your food. The things I've been unable to eat since you're gone. Your laughter, your call every night. The smell of your cigarettes.

Your presence.