One mistake that could have been prevented
But not easily fixed.
Stir until the bumps begin to smooth out.
Add a dash or glimmer of hope to taste;
Enough that it can still be crushed
But not enough to overpower.
Let sit until it ferments
And spreads
Sinking into the crevices in your brain
Leaving you with nothing
But an aftertaste
Of what could have been.
She approaches the vacant bed
With caution
And reflects
On all of the late nights
The requests
For him to crawl in next to her
And wrap his arms around her
A warmth that only he could provide
He did this to himself
She thinks
As she climbs inside
Pulls the freshly laundered sheets up to her neck
Where they lie
With a cold but comforting touch
I’m here for you
As she creates her linen cocoon
And drifts to sleep
Without him.