When I woke up this morning, I reached over for you. You weren’t there. I sighed and reminded myself that, oh yeah, you were at work, had left a few hours ago. I drifted on the edge of sleep for a few moments before the sinking realization slowing spread like ice across my chest. Wait. You had never been in my bed. You had never been mine at all. Creeping in, sorrow filled me. I squeezed my lids tightly against the morning light. Damn it. I want those dreams back. Those dreams where you are mine. Can’t I just go back to sleep? Did you know, have I confessed, if you asked, I would run to you? I would run far and run fast. I would come to you.
Even so, I will wait for you, my love, as long as it takes, I will wait. And one day, perhaps…
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The Reluctant Poet 