I'll leave the window ajar
each night before I sleep
in case there's ever a chance
of you crawling back into this bed with me.

I'll walk through our memories with precaution
and try not to fall
as I tread water over spilt feelings
and an ocean worth of empty,
yet somehow still entirely full.

I just wish my hands
had something other than
themselves
to hold again.
I wish they had yours
to start a fire with

I wish my bed didn't have your
body
carved into it in braille
because I'm not blind,
and I don't read what I can't see
but ****
I wish I did.

I wish the ocean was a friend
rather than the inevitable enemy it poses as

I don't like the atomic bomb
that sets off
when reality hits back
even though I know you love
the mushroom cloud
that follows.

My room echoes something only you
and I
can hear and
replying to my own voice
is getting tiring.
The earth will still turn
but I don't know how long I can stand
still
I don't know how long I can bare
to stare at a world
without your eyes.

I don't know how I can stare at a world
that isn't mine.

I guess I'll go back
to kissing my own hands
and screaming echoes to a bed
that isn't warm

because I know what I've had
I know what I have
and I know I haven't lost
but I have loved
and I love
and I will
I do