a bed so big
a room so empty
a void that you left
is slowly killing of me

hugging a pillow during my sleep
and pretending it was you
was the loneliest thing that i’ve ever done;

constantly wishing
how nice it is if it were your hands
that i was holding

but no,

my fist clenched the bedsheets
in the most distressing way possible;
to think that i got used
to waking up facing the cold wall
pretending it was you
made me contemplate nonstop

what if someday,
i got accustomed to the coldness
and the silence so well,
that i couldn’t take the heat
and the hitch between each of your breath?