it's late at night and i thought it was cold (but really, it was just your absence)

a bed so big,
a room so empty;
a void that you left
is slowly killing of me;

hugging a pillow during my sleep pretending it was you
was the loneliest thing that i’ve ever done;

constantly wishing how nice it would be
if it were your hands that i was holding on to,
but no;

my fist clenched the bed sheets
in the most distressing way possible;

to think that i got used to waking up
facing the cold wall,
pretending it was you,
made me contemplate nonstop:

what if someday i got accustomed to
the coldness
and the silence
so well,

that i couldn’t take
the heat
and the hitch
between each of your breath?