You were actually home today. I liked that. It made me smile.

You slept in our bed last night, too. With me. I'd missed curling up against you. I'd missed having your arms around me. You didn't smell of alcohol, you weren't drunk, and you smiled. You stroked my hair for the first time in ages, and you kissed me. And you told me that you love me.

And then I woke up.

And when I woke up, I was alone. It was dark. It was raining outside. And you were drunkenly singing in the kitchen again. So you were never in bed with me. It was just a dream.

When I got up this morning, you were passed out on the couch. I lifted your head up and placed it on my lap, stroking your hair. You always look so peaceful when you're sleeping. Like nothing's hurting you or making you sad. Do you wish that you could sleep forever?

You woke up, and the first thing you saw was me. I asked you if you wanted any painkillers, and you just nodded meekly. I was surprised that you didn't shout at me. When I came back, you were crying. I hate it when you cry. You're still beautiful, but it hurts. I want to get rid of whatever's making you upset, but you don't like to tell me. Please, Gerard. I don't know what's happening to you. I'm losing you. I don't like seeing you cry. I don't like hearing you cry.

You won't tell me what's hurting you. I want to know, I want to make it better. I want to make you happy again. I love you so much, please don't do this.

But today was nice. Even though you often stared into space and drifted in and out of sleep, you let me hold you and kiss the top of your head. I liked having you in my arms again.

Maybe you will sleep in our bed with me this time. Please do.

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