Somebody sleeps in my bed alone.
I watch his lungs rise and fall as he rests.
I can hear his heartbeat tighten as he dreams terrible dreams.
I can see his hands clasp tightly when he thinks of his situation.
His legs move constantly, restless, because his thoughts are the same.

He wakes up every morning and hates.
He opens his eyes to terrible noises, and stares.
Why can't I sleep forever, thinking out loud. I can hear him.
Why can't I awake to her eyes and smile and hips like we dreamed?
He gets up. He touches his clock. It dies. He was statically charged. Again.

The water doesn't help. Or the soap.
His pity attempt to clean his long, tangled hair.
His half-awake thoughts while staring at the white walls.
He's thinking of women. And sleeping. And sleeping with them.
Or rather, he's thinking of her. Sometimes it's his "lover," sometimes it's his regret.

More sleep. Clothes.
A suit today, he wanted compliments.
A briefcase. **** I look snazzy. He smiles in the mirror.
Your perfect smile is fading. He interjects as if only to sting before leaving.
I watch him trudge out the door only to start freezing. But he's already frozen.

Thoughtlessly driving. No seat-belt.
At least I'll die in my funeral outfit if I do.
He arrives, throwing on a fake smile for the eyes around him.
Music. Mind numbing practice with his golden instrument's sound.
I watch him sit there, stretching his legs, listening with awakened ears.

"Why are you dressed up."
"Because." "Because why?" "Because I am."
Most people would quit there, but there must be a reason.
They keep pressing him. He gets annoyed, but not yet frustrated.
He smiles and answers their questions dishonestly. He always does.

A fake smile for everyone.
It would be so much easier to live this life,
If I could stop thinking of her. But I can't. And won't.
We spoke. We made new words, but no new promises.
Promises always hurt. Even when they're followed through.

He opens his phone.
Browsing for that photo of her.
New, in a sense, though it is still old her.
So young. So bold. So sad. So beautiful. Wanted.
Why won't she talk to me. She said we wouldn't do this!

"The oak and the cypress,
Do not grow in each-others' shade."
I know, old man, but when my tree thrives in darkness,
Why can it not find a properly emitting source, especially from her.
She was so close. She was my waking spark. And now she won't even...

The oak and the cypress.
Staring into different corners of the forest.
Still only feet apart.