Rewriting

I wrote in my notebook: We are beautiful, broken things.  That’s how [I thought] we were then.  If we were in bed, you were on your laptop.  Sometimes I was on mine, sometimes I just sat there wishing you would close the screen and kiss me.  But each time you finally closed the laptop, you went to sleep and I would lay beside you in the dark, my body just barely touching yours.  But each time we went to sleep, I would lay beside you in the dark. When those nights first began to occur and then reoccur, I would align my body with the back of yours and wrap my arm around you, laying my hand over yours, just the way I knew you liked and I would hope that you loved it.  [If we were broken, our breaks complimented each other and we fit together.]