it’s the call I want to get
the day after his honesty
but I don’t wish to answer
or even acknowledge
it’s the desire to know
if he lost as much sleep
seeking the comfort of the cool side
of the pillow
or did he punch it out of frustration?
it’s all the angry words
I wish I had the courage to say
but couldn’t
because anger just makes me cry
it’s the knowing that I have
to be good at moving forward
hiding my heartache from my child
while I prepare her lunch
and press kisses into her forehead
it’s faking forms of happiness
when I only have the capacity
to be numb
resist life's little pleasures
it’s the regret of freshly-laundered sheets
that no longer carry his scent
that would otherwise comfort me
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