It’s 4am and I miss you,
now that I’m missing from you.
Want to roll over and slip my arm into the warm slot to rest
just below your resting heart.
Who am I kidding, I always did more shoving than slipping.
Want to snuggle up and cuddle up
and place my cuckooned up body
into the space in front of yours
crafted only for my cuckooned up body.
The space that fit me so perfectly,
like stacking one of those Russian dolls.
I’m not sure they’re Russian dolls
but hey, I’m not sure about any of this anymore.
I’d even welcome back the five alarms you set every morning
just to snooze the first 4 and rise only on the last.
I swear I can still hear you breathing.
A light drag on your inhale,
feel the love in your exhale.
Maybe if I place my blankets just so
it can imitate the weight
of your arms slung lightly over my body.
Resting,
protecting.
But now it’s just me in this oversized bed fit for two
and the silence is frightening,
sounds like screaming,
and the extra space makes me uneasy,
and I can’t stop dreaming about "what if?"
What if I’d stayed?
Is it late at night?
Or early morning?
And what if I’d stayed?