In my crowded studio apartment, the bed was the anchor of you and I.

Our legs intertwined, arms overlapped, breathing
in sync as your chest rose and fell under my head.

The queen sized mattress felt too big to house the both of us. We
were never farther than an inch from each other, the crook
of your neck the only headrest I needed. We laid in the center
of the bed, pillows to the left and right of us like rocks
on faraway islands.

As time passed and feelings changed,
we stopped meeting in the middle.

Most nights I fell asleep to the shape of your back, unable
to decipher the pattern of your breaths. My fingers traced
the outline of you onto the sheet under me – the curve
of your shoulder, the width of your arm, blue
cotton flowing beneath the tips of my nails.

I wanted to swim to you, but you were already oceans away, not a lifeboat in sight.