Pitch black.
Panic.

Someone’s in my bed.

Streetlights creep in through the curtains,
revealing a back turned towards me.

Was he there when I fell asleep?

Reaching out for a clue,
my fingers craze his hair.
I hold my breath and listen to his:

In the darkness
flashes
the ghost of a smile from years ago.

It’s his bed, not mine.

We fell asleep every night,
made a new schism every year.
Our shared sheets became traps
that tied us to the hell housed here.

I could have, would have, should have, stayed
but you don’t deserve any more of my time.

I disappear like smoke into the night,
and take with me
my overdue goodbye.