It's not the haze of the early morning
taking up your side of the bed
that tells me it's time to pretend
you weren't here again last night.

It's not the gaze of a silent songbird
peering at me through the window
that tells me it's time to act
like I don't know who you were.

It's not anything I can pinpoint
or explain, convey, or describe
that would let you know how much
I wish this wasn't so.