Maybe.

He woke up drenched in cold sweat, immediately feeling around for his cell phone with his eyes still closed. He had hoped that she had text messaged him but all that was there was the time; very early in the morning. He always has trouble sleeping and can't go back once he wakes in a panic. He gets out of bed and changes his shirt because it's cold and the sweat-covered shirt makes it even colder. He wonders why he sweats that way when it's as cold as it is. It must be the dreams. The intensity of the dreams. He paces around his room, thinking. Always thinking too much. Thinking about things that matter more than he would like them to. Thinking of ways to make them change for the better. He walks down the street to buy a soda from a vending machine. Something good to mix with. It's far too cold outside and his hand numbs as he carries the canned beverage home. He gets goosebumps as he enters his apartment and feels the significant change in temperature. He puts the soda in the freezer and runs a bath. No bubbles. He has some but he hates to have to rinse them off. He puts on some ambient music to help relax him. He gets into the water. It thaws his extremities. He stares down at his body in disgust. She crosses his mind along with many sensual thoughts. He touches himself but gives up quickly. It's far too cold. He's not in for long as he remembers that he put the soda in the freezer. He drains the water, gets out, dries himself quickly. He gets into comfortable clothes. He goes to the freezer and pours the soda into a large glass followed by an ample amount of triple distilled vodka. He sits on the couch and puts on a movie for background. He realizes that Nicole Kidman is still sexy. He sits, thinking, again. It's always her. He might be irritated but he still has good things cross his mind. He's angry that he's alone. Maybe at her, maybe at himself. He thinks about times they traveled, times they talked, times they fucked and said "I love you." He wonders if there's something wrong with his phone since no one has texted him. He turns it off and back on. Still nothing. He drinks his drink, quickly. He likes to get straight to the point...with everything. He tries to decide if he's pathetic or if he's just separated. He knows what he wants and he knows that it's close but maybe it's not as close as he thinks. Maybe it's not even there. Maybe he's still dreaming. Maybe is a very general, vague term.