The sky was clear and even without my glasses I could see dozens of stars in the blackness beyond my window. At least I had to guess that the bits in the darkness that weren't darkness were stars. I blew on the window and dotted spots into the fog with the tips of my fingers. Not the pads where whorls and swishes spelled out the tiny patterns that only my fingers carry, but the very tips. My fingernails were newly shortened and the ends of my fingers felt things freshly, like they'd just awoken from a deep sleep. I traced them on the cold glass, edging closer and closer around the shrinking patch of dotted fog.

Something had slipped further away.

What I thought about without realizing I was thinking about it was the way that wonderful friendship was fading away. In my head I saw a child at the beach, towel sliding off shoulders so slowly that when it finally drops into the sand it goes unnoticed. It made me sad but I realized it was probably for the best. The change could probably be traced back to those three words but even as terrible as it was it felt like a natural death.

The death of comfortable affection.

I knew that somewhere else, in a cold and empty room miles away, he was awake devoting his attention to some project, moving himself closer to the goals he is always achieving so firmly. I knew that his mind was filled with lists and interests and memories and that none of those things included me. It wasn't okay with me but I supposed that one day, perhaps soon, it would be okay. Or, more likely, one day I just wouldn't notice that fact anymore.

The wind blew, the window rattled, and I closed my eyes.