He only ever comes during the early morning, when I've already been sleeping for hours.
I'm always so tired that I fall back asleep right after touching his body.
Most nights I cry myself to sleep, praying he'll visit me.
Praying that I get to run my fingertips over his crackling, hollow skin,
praying that I get to run my fingertips over his solid, gummy hair.
Sometimes my prayers are answered.
Other times they aren't.
. . .
Sometimes I wonder why, out of all of the universes I could have been born into, it had to be this one.