I imagine myself waking up in the morning, and walking into the kitchen to find you.
We are both in our underwear and a baggy, oversized t-shirt with messy hair, and you say to me, “Hey, I made you rainbow pancakes for breakfast.”
And maybe then I would enjoy mornings.

Tell me why I’m only relevant when you need a shoulder to cry on.
Explain to me why you only remember my phone number when it’s Friday night, and she didn’t call you back.

I wish that you were here
That you felt the same way
That you hadn’t walked away
That you weren’t out with her
That we had gotten our happy ever after.
But these wishes won’t come true
And 11:11 will pass by
With or without you.