It’s the time of year that makes you reach for someone.

When you wrap yourself in stories of lovers past to keep warm at night.

Scents left behind on your sheets. Gangly frames that clutched your body for dear life. Tentative invitations to “come here” to their side of the bed. Hands on your lower back guiding you through crowded rooms. Knowing glances traded over group dinners. Tension-filled car rides after an evening out.

And the kissing. Pinned to the wall in parking garages. Thighs locked around waists in torrid couch sessions. Swallowing moans to keep the sounds from penetrating closed doors.

Phone calls until 4:00 AM. Early mornings with ESPN. Sneaking peeks at your texts during the work day and struggling to hide your smile. Innuendo delivered through double taps and lyrics quoted on Twitter.

This was once I Can’t Believe I’m Telling You This Season / I Woke Up Thinking of You Season / What Are You Doing After This? Season / We Might Not Make It to the Bed Season.

Now it’s just November.