i still wait for you in the morning, though I don't see the signs
half in a conversation and half out the door
but you're not coming anytime soon
(or any time at all)

i still reach for the hand that accompanied mine, though I misinterpret
stomach shuffling nervously and a pocket
That seems too inviting.

i still listen to the same song everyday, as if by repeating this small ritual
I'll hold you closer, for longer
I'll keep you until you're really gone.

You're not coming any time soon,
Or any time at all.