Your water is still by my bed,
your pajamas still under my pillow.
And that’s how I like it,
even though you’re gone for the moment, and it hurts,
I like the reminders you leave behind.
Which is why I am so sorry
to have ever put you through
of me not being here.
For the nights where I couldn’t see a way forward,
and I thought there was only one solution –
pills, a blade and a bath.
That was selfish of me.
Because although I still have your glass of water
and your pajamas,
and it pains me that you’re gone for now,
that’s just it – it’s just for now.
What would I have left you with?
A handful of badly written poems
maybe that piece of paper with
“i love you”
scrawled on in lipstick from a drunken night out.
And that would’ve been it.
And I am so sorry that I was selfish to believe
that that would’ve been
enough for you.
But I promise you, I’m trying.
I’ll write you more poems.
I’ll be there with you under the covers,
and I won’t leave you
with a cold side of the bed.