Night and her Lover

He rolled over and just stared at her. She wasn’t perfect, but she was perfect for him. She was his goth-punk princess. Her raven hair cascaded over her side-shave, getting stuck in the stubble in her sleep. He gingerly brushed (and gently plucked at) her loose strands of hair until they all fell back into place. He kissed her forehead tenderly before he too fell asleep.

He awoke in the morning to an empty bed, as always. He rolled out of bed and checked his phone for messages. Nothing, of course. There were never messages. The rest of his day was exactly like every other workday: tea for breakfast, log into the work account on the computer, help people solve their problems, skip lunch, try to solve his own work problems, log off.

She only came to him at night, after the sun had set, after he was done with work.