I wake up in empty mornings on empty beds. I know where you are and I know where to find you, but I wish you were here and that I do not have to. I wish you were beside me, while the dark sky covers the stars, and we travel to where imaginations run wild. I would do it again, what we did:
On the first night, you slept by my side. I turned away from you, and closed my eyes at the wall, but I kept your hand close. And somehow, before I knew it, I reached it, and held it, until sleep had overcome my fragile mind.
On the last night, you slept by my side, again. But this time I faced you, and I held you close. And I loved it. Very much. You watched me as I slept soundly. I will never forget.
Tonight, I will sleep again (on a different bed, in a different room), and tomorrow morning I will ceaselessly long for you. The other side is waiting, as I crave for your familiar scent to linger on my pillows. In my mind, a dream forms. You come home, to our home, and you will hold me. Every single night.
But for now, I wake up in empty mornings on empty beds.