in a bed made for one

You know, some days I wake up in the mornings and I hope to see you. Slumbered beside me, with your hair all messed up. I want to see you still. With your eyes closed, your lips just partly open. This way, you will never leave.

Some days I start the day and I know I can't do it anymore. I feel inadequate, incomplete, ordinary. And I think of you. I miss you and I wish you were here to make it easier to bear. Because I can't, but I force myself to go on.

Some days when I talk, no one fucking listens. My voice is too small, too insignificant. But I speak anyway, only to be broken after. And I wish you were here, because when I see your lips curl, I know you hear.

Some days I look up to the sky and wonder about it all. I hear the songs in my head, the lines that pierce me so deeply. I try my best, but my best will never be good enough.

And some days I think I can. I think I can forge on, and by some fortuitous piece of luck, I will find my way to the end of the rainbow. But what good will that be if you won't be there?