When will the mornings feel different?
When your name doesn’t linger in my first thought,
When the light through the blinds doesn’t whisper your face,
And I rise without the weight of your absence?

When will the nights turn soft with forgetting?
When the pillow cradles only sleep—
Not the ghost of your laughter, your voice in my ear,
Not the echo of all that could never be?

When will the music play untainted,
A melody not stitched with your shadow?
When will I stop wondering if you’d love this song,
If its rhythm might stir something deep in you,
And silence the urge to send it your way?

When will the sight of your favorite team
Be just a score, a game, a fleeting moment—
Not a trigger pulling me back
To the sidelines of my unspoken longing?

When will the world stop speaking your name
In everything, in everyone, in places unknown?
When will my heart stop aching for answers
That it knows will never come?

Maybe the day will come.
Or maybe it never will.

It’s not that I want you gone from my head—
But I want you closer, real, mine.
I love you, I miss you,
And I know I always will.