it's hard to remember pet names at four in the morning

I wake,
my jaw aching as if
I've been chewing gum
all night.
It's a phantom pain,
transparent,
something he imprinted on me
over the years.

I feel the emptiness beside me,
hands mapping over
cool sheets
then smile briefly,
sardonically,
wondering why I would
have expected anything else.

I wonder how he is,
and entertain
the possibility that
he's clenching his teeth
hundreds of miles away.
No, that would be too
magical for us.

I take two Advil in
a glass of lukewarm water
and go back to bed.