people have a funny way of showing they care:
i wake up on the right side of bed and wonder
where you really are. the left side is untouched
and misses you, sheets wrinkled because during
the bad nights i reach out for a ghost.

months are passing by,
as they’re meant to.
thinking of you hurts.
thinking of you is killing me.

though all is forgiven;
i know you’ll find the way
to our bed eventually.

we played catch-up
a few weeks back
over cooling coffee
in my old-to-me/
new-to-you
apartment.

"sorry it’s been so long."
you muttered into
the mug, steam clawing
upwards between us. we avoided
eye contact at all costs and allowed
ourselves to pretend we were
elsewhere.

i almost hated you.

winter is here and in my
heart, with only
you to blame for
bringing this *******
apparition into my home.

the season you left in
has a certain chill
that won’t ebb under
today’s sun.

"it’s fine." i smiled
unconvincingly and
placed my coffee to
the side. hands sliding
across the kitchen
table and over your own.

a subtle shiver ran down my spine
as your hands turned around to grip mine
lightly. they were colder than the outisde
snow storm.

i acknowledged my fluttering
chest with a small nod of the head that
made your lips turn up crookedly.
i loved you like that.

eventually,
i took you
to my bed
and we
stayed there
for hours
almost like
lovers.

everything
felt warmer
that way.

morning
threw
itself
between
us;

and that’s when
you found there
were no coffee
grinds left.

"i’ll go to the store." you reassured
me in a deep voice, forgetting to smile
down at my small form. despite
the easygoing grin, i knew you
wouldn’t come home. so i watched
as you tromped down the apartment
stairs and into the waking world
without saying goodbye.

days passed
and there was still no sign of you.
i wasn’t surprised.
living under a roof that lacked
all forms of coffee proved harder
than i thought. and of course,
it was your fault.

days got slower and turned into
fading snapshots i can barely remember now.
i was stuck with a vision of you in my mind
on replay through those insufferable days
and nights. smiling at me like the rest of the
world couldn’t possibly matter.

at one point,
i’d left you a series
angry voicemails.
all i wanted was
to hear you
say my name
again.

that was the day
your mother called
me to let me know
that you’d been hit
right off of 32nd street.

on
the way back
from grocery shopping.

all they could find at the scene:
a body,
torn clothing,
and
two bags of expensive coffee.

now i’m still in our bed.
looking to your side
and wondering
where all that
faith had gone.

and it still hurts.