How quiet
are the mornings – when the weight has left the sheets but everything else
feels heavy. There is a silhouette of regret hanging by the edge of my bed.
Even in the dark of the night with only the dim glow from the moon, I know it
is you. I could lie to myself, imagine it to be something else, but with
sunlight invading the spaces of my room now, clearing the air of hopeful doubting,
there is no escape. You still sit at the edge of my bed.
