It’s been three months.
I watch you from afar
and cry silently
at the distance
between us.
Once a warm bed
with fingers reaching
for me
to lie close to
enough to feel your breath
against my cheek.
I am lost in the
empty sheets
you don’t
come to anymore.

Your clothes
no longer take up
the room in
the closet
except for the shirts
I took from
your suitcase
you dragged out behind you.
I still wear them
at two in the morning
when I miss
the way you smell
and it’s too cold to sleep

You don’t see me anymore.
I am nothing but a memory
to you now,
and you don’t look twice
when you walk past
my desperate spot
outside your work
just hoping to bump into you
the way we first did
So long ago.

You are no longer
a home.
You’re just a place
I used to know.