1:30 AM


It's 1:30am
and I wonder what your sky looks like.
How the sun sends rays through your window,
which laps across your face,
on to your pale eyelids, outlined by the long,
black lashes you would blink at me so
precariously.
Or maybe,
it's still dark and cold,
wet from the midnight rain.
And your're tucked under too many blankets,
but it's warm, just how I remember your skin.
The sheets smell like vanilla because
I told you that was my favorite scent
and you wanted to dream of me.
From here,
my 1:34 is silent.
It is dark and snow covered and empty
without you near.
My 1:35am misses your voice like the
moon misses the morning sun.

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