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It is Eleven

By
It is eleven
and I have not picked up the phone.
I am sitting here afraid to fall asleep,
afraid of what my dreams will show me.
My eyes undress the darkness of the room
revealing what our life should have, could have been.
Sleep knocks on the window beckoning me
trying to grab my self-being into a stage of unconsciousness.
My memories push it strongly away
demanding it to leave me alone.
My hand reaches for the remote beside my bed,
my finger instinctly pushes the button that will hopefully erase you off my thoughts.
As I lay here quietly pondering about what has happened,
tears begin to form and slide down my cheeks.
My eyes slowly closes as a sigh of exasperation comes out.
My body aches,
yearn,
and desire your presence.
My tears begin to fall harder
my heart begins to break more
and my world continues to collapse underneath my feet.
My will to give up becomes stronger
as I realize our love has gone.
I let sleep succumb me and tightly grip my body
as the thoughts of you slowly fade away.
I wake up ready to face another day of missing you,
ready to trudge through life without you,
and ready to do the same thing all over again.





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