The whirr of the rush hour in the morning
and the lack of human sounds outside my door
reinforces that I'm alone.

It was a noise similar to my usual routine,
of quelling needy pangs of connection,
with what is always plugged in.

You had slept with me on this bed twice before
and you were unaware that on it,
I numbed myself quite frequently.

I reprimand myself to let go of expectations,
they have long become pipe dreams and idealism,
and would be foolish to follow still.