another morning where i leave a bed
unmade
and taunt myself with memories of you
and i
you hold my hand
in measures
almost apologetically at times
and i understand why
because we're both waiting for the reprise
young love
you've got me
wrapped up in denial and so many wishes
i kiss this
drawn out hit list
and stare out at what i've missed
all along
and it's the accountability
of making one's own bed
each morning
before
i leave you