I’m waiting for the night
that I can sleep all the way through
without waking up in tears
because of the dream that I had lost you
and the day that I stop looking out my window
waiting for your car to pull up the driveway
you used to say
“I want to be all of your Sunday mornings and Friday nights and every day in between”
now here I am on a Tuesday night
and I’d rather slit the veins in my wrist
than feel the pain in my chest
because of the vacant space in my drawer
where your sweaters used to be
and the toothbrush you left by the sink
that I refuse to move
in case you decide to come home
but I deleted your number in my phone
to pretend that I was in control
yet it’s the first combination my fingers type
when the bottle is empty
on a Saturday night
but I know on Sunday morning
you’ll be waking up in a bed that isn’t mine