Quiet the longing with the ache of your heart below the pressure and the weight of my chest. With my ear pressed to your skin I listened to the movement of your touch against the covers. January did not fall from December in the same way we fell from November. I would wake in the night to weigh the foreignness of your body in your bed while I lay in the gap between the wall and your mattress. This is not the room where we lay awake until the morning, this is the truth of our differences. Your clumsy bones do not belong to me, nor did I ever intend to want them to.