The moon did not come up that tonight. Amy looked up for their constellation and found none. The air carried his scents to her as she stood by the window where once their lips conversed. She had been waking up from dreams of him dreams of them. She had been wishing upon prayers that really did not have an end. Instead they were weaved in and worn on the wrist of the hand that had his promise. Each time she took a view of it, he became real in her thoughts. As the wind blew through her hair, it was like his fingers running through her hair. And in that moment, she missed how powerful his absence could be. She then went and sat on the bed, held the shirt he wore before he left. It still lingered with his cologne. As she took in scents of him, she could not help it but cry. Never did she ever ask why he had to go. She had trust that he will come back. She knew that what they had was just a lust. And she knew it cause it rusted the heart that kept him. She knew he did not belong to her. Not when her woman’s lips colored his colors each time he came. It was as if Beth, his wife knew of her existence and how she reminded Amy through her lipstick that she knew her. But she still loved him….