You were the small child up above. I was the thing in the darkness down below. You had the covers over your head, so of course I couldn't see you.
But then you stirred. I felt the bed move above me. You were getting ready to throw the covers back. You were getting ready to move.
I was waiting. I knew where you'd go: the bathroom. Where else would you go in the middle of the night? And you must have badly needed to get there. I had my arms out, just under the edge of the bed.
But you didn't put your feet on the floor. You jumped to the chair, and then all the way to the bathroom door. And then you turned on the light, and oh how it burned.
And the next night, you were gone. It was just a sleepover at your grandparents' farm. But I want you to come back. You have those lovely, delicate ankles... and I have the these long arms and these long, curling fingers, perfect for wrapping around them. Sleep above my bed again. Put your feet on the floor this time. I am so, so sorry that we didn't get to meet properly.