When the world is far too quiet and dew has yet to coat the early morning air
And you show up as the clock strikes 3 am for the third night this week
Slurring in your own stupidity requesting bagels, uncooked with globs of butter
The way we always had them all those years ago, all those drunken nights

And you’ll claim love that you so conveniently forget to mention in sobriety
Love that we had when we were one in the same
The same love that urges me to hold your hair back
And nurse you back to feeling okay

Only to stand there stone cold, only hours later to watch you leave
In minutes that get shorter with every morning that passes

And as I clean up the only evidence of your visits
I pick apart the remainder of what we once called a relationship

Maybe one of these days I’ll take the leap from what’s comfortable into what we need
To end it

' I found my first grey ***** hair " my husband said today
His voice was soft and full of dread - I had to look away.
We sat in silence very still - you could have heard a penny
I didn't know quite what to say so said " I don't have any "
" Today at noon I went for lunch " he quietly replied
" The hair was in my bagel "
I laughed until I cried.