Quoting Vanishing_Point:

Heavy, black, floor to ceiling curtains are one of the only furnishings in this empty apartment; they block out overcast sunlight now. Precious sunlight that I don't get enough of anymore, sunlight that I used to love as it turned my pink skin its summer peach, turned his skin a deep bronze. Sunlight whose absence erases memories of warm golden days and causes indifference.
 

And in the dim light, I see you. There's a ghost in this place.
 
I catch you sometimes: a diaphanous thought manifesting itself thoroughly enough in my mind that your image flickers in the eye; walking down the hall, in the kitchen, through the door.  I see your body taking up space.  You smile--I feel you smile and then you're gone. Maybe a thought, maybe a feeling so real, maybe a hint of what is to come, maybe a glimpse into another world, another dimension of what should have been. But you're gone so quickly.
 
I get home from the night shift: Dramatic curtains limit light, and as I walk into the bedroom and my eyes are still adjusting to the dark...for a moment, I know your body is in my bed like it used to be...and I hesitate to let myself feel a long forgotten swell, could it be true, could you be there? I let the undulations grow as I imagine and remember sliding in next to you, fitting my body to yours and I remember all the nuances, muscles careening into one another, a slow heartbeat and the scent of your skin. I let my body feel it and my eyes well...could it be true?...really?...nothing I wouldn't give...and there you are...and my heart bursts as it dies and is reborn a thousand times, blood stains all over the walls...because you're here now and everything is good, and right and sweet and safe and beautiful again.
 
And then I realize my clothes are dirty, too dirty to sully our bed, and my hair hurts from being tied up all night, and then reality sets in: the body I can fool myself into thinking is in my bed is really just the unmade covers piled up the way I left them as I dragged this weary flesh from torturous dreams to a torturous reality.
 

Heavy, black, floor to ceiling curtains are one of the only furnishings in this empty apartment; they block out overcast sunlight now. Precious sunlight that I don't get enough of anymore, sunlight that I used to love as it turned my pink skin its summer peach, turned his skin a deep bronze. Sunlight whose absence erases memories of warm golden days and causes indifference.
 

And in the dim light, I see you. There's a ghost in this place.
 
I catch you sometimes: a diaphanous thought manifesting itself thoroughly enough in my mind that your image flickers in the eye; walking down the hall, in the kitchen, through the door.  I see your body taking up space.  You smile--I feel you smile and then you're gone. Maybe a thought, maybe a feeling so real, maybe a hint of what is to come, maybe a glimpse into another world, another dimension of what should have been. But you're gone so quickly.
 
I get home from the night shift: Dramatic curtains limit light, and as I walk into the bedroom and my eyes are still adjusting to the dark...for a moment, I know your body is in my bed like it used to be...and I hesitate to let myself feel a long forgotten swell, could it be true, could you be there? I let the undulations grow as I imagine and remember sliding in next to you, fitting my body to yours and I remember all the nuances, muscles careening into one another, a slow heartbeat and the scent of your skin. I let my body feel it and my eyes well...could it be true?...really?...nothing I wouldn't give...and there you are...and my heart bursts as it dies and is reborn a thousand times, blood stains all over the walls...because you're here now and everything is good, and right and sweet and safe and beautiful again.
 
And then I realize my clothes are dirty, too dirty to sully our bed, and my hair hurts from being tied up all night, and then reality sets in: the body I can fool myself into thinking is in my bed is really just the unmade covers piled up the way I left them as I dragged this weary flesh from torturous dreams to a torturous reality.
 

You might tie my hands to the wall but you can't tie my dreams to this place.