Losing a little piece of myself?

And sometimes...in the middle of the night...I can't sleep for want of your arm thrown over me, or the hotter-than-the-sun waves from your skin seeping over into my side of the bed. What IS that? When did I lose a little of the love of an empty bed? I used to revel in my ability to do snow angels in my sheets. I'd roll over twice just because I could. And now, the neon green of my clock numbers scowl at me in those early dawn hours when I should be curling into your warmth. My fingers itch to trace whorls on your shoulder blades without waking you up...