"I miss the way we were"

She denied my touch two nights ago, physically removing my hand from her. I tried to remember a time that I'd felt rejected by her and of course I couldn't. A snapshot of where things are, a cold bed on a warm summer's night. I hear heavy breathing and assume she's pleasuring herself. For a moment, I'm angered, then dejection, then reflection, then listening to the sounds of cars drive by the window and the hum of the fan. I yearn for her touch silently, a fingertip, her breath against my chest, but she's asleep and my mind tosses and turns for an hour as I wonder what I've really lost and if there is any time left to gain. It's me and all my faults and I'd like to believe I can right the wrongs of the past, that things can be better than they ever were, but just as she is not so sure of the fate of us, I'm not so sure I deserve the chance to. But who am I to fault my love for shielding herself against the pain of someone that has so many times before professed an undying love, only to recoil into the arms of another? I won't give up though, only if she says she wants me to go. I'll have to be more of a man than I've ever been and let her be. I just hope that missing the way we were is enough to continue to build on the way we will be, together.