I am twenty four
Mornings are the worst.
At night I hold the down pillow
closely into my body
It has your fragrance on it.
It feels soft like you did in sleep.
I know
I can never feel your soft hair
drifting over my face
Or
Your leg finding mine.
I wonder if you still
sing show tunes
in the shower.
The smashed photo frame
of us in love tells me
Your not coming back.
But I can't seem
to throw it out.
Sometimes the moon
shines into my bedroom.
I know it can also
see you sleeping
And maybe
It's just trying to tell me
That you are alright.