They were born and then they lived and then they died

Friday night after too many shots of tequila I fall in and out of sleep in mother's king-sized bed. Through the darkness I hear the silent breaths of a girl, her warm skin under silk sheets, little reflections of a distant light in her dark green eyes as she looks at me.

Laying next to her I try to encapsulate the feeling of touching her, but the only thing left in the morning is her smell on my fingertips. She's gone, I still see her in front of me, what she's wearing, her smile, but I've forgotten what her body felt like under my trembling hands.

All these things that end and that I try so hard to hold on to when deep inside I know it's no use. I wish I could get over the sadness.