I think it, but I can’t make it stick in my head: Go on, take up the entire bed. He won’t come back, there is no might. Make the best of a lonesome night.
Take off his t-shirt and brush my teeth. Scream to my pillow, scream till I’m free. Think of morning fog; I’ll be fine by then. Put the phone down, don’t do this again.
I shake and I shiver, but I won’t wear a thread. It’s easier to be cold, I’ll pretend that I’m dead. Wrapped in a sheet, lost in a nightmare. It was all paradise but he wasn’t there.
Twist and turn and my head only pounds. Clock hands dance around and around. Move over, bitch. There’s not enough room. Though I scoff at the thought, I always do.
Don’t say come over, don’t even think it. I’m just getting by, can’t afford to jinx it. But it’s three, three thirty, four a.m., and I can’t close my eyes without seeing him.
The slightest chance that he might return, to find I’ve let the old days burn. An edge of the mattress is my offer of peace. Babe, I’m so cold. Hurry back, please.
But I never wake up to company; it’s always just me and my icy cold feet. Fuck him for leaving, I won’t lose my mind. I’ll sleep in the middle and I’ll be just fine.