“The Hours You Left Behind”

Another night collapsed beneath me without rest.
I wandered through the landscape of a dream,
searching for you,
but you drifted from my reach,
my touch,
a warm presence fading
like heat slipping from a pillow at dawn.

I woke in the dark,
my fingers already reaching for the phone.
A poem spilled out of me,
a map of my insomnia,
and for a moment
I thought of sending it to you.
Then I laid the phone down,
and let the message die quietly in my hands.

Your silence has grown its own shape:
a distance wide enough
to swallow my affection,
my voice,
my longing,
my presence.
You stepped away from the man
who promised you peace,
who admired the softness of your smile,
who cherished the simple grace
of holding your hand
and sitting beside you
just to be near.

These sleepless nights don’t disappear;
they multiply,
echoing through the hours,
turning into dark memories,
gathering like shadows
that refuse to be still.
They are nights without your warmth,
moments emptied of you,
hours hollow as winter rooms,
waiting for the sound
of your voice
that never comes.

*Last night, I went to bed with a terrible headache, couldn’t sleep through the night. Still fighting my insomnia.
It never leaves me alone even for a moment.
When I woke up in the morning, my head was still pounding. A poem was born out of me at dawn, and I named it “The Hours You Left Behind.”