The sheets were smooth; like silk... Like her tears. Like memories fading into the inevitable wasteland of the forgotten. She sat up in the warm bed, smoking a cigarette. The spilled orange juice and vodka still smelled fresh on the rug beneath. We were children last night. Playing with each other with all the emotion of a warm, summer playground. We talked about the world in intimate detail. Our laughter was real. Looking into her eyes, I fell, as if into a warm, soft cavern. We loved with a fierce passion, and we hated with the same ferocity. The sun rose on us as we gently kissed. I realized with each passing moment that her ghost could no longer fill me. I opened my eyes and gazed upon her gravestone. To once again slide on those satin sheets. To once again love...