I woke up early this morning,
hours before my alarm,
out of a fitful slumber that felt more like a nightmare.
I left your bed, packed up my things, and walked out.
I wanted to know that when I left it meant
that it mattered to you.
I sobbed twice before 8:30,
ridding myself of what made me want to leave yesterday
and the day before,
then wondered what had made me stay in the first place.
It’s pouring rain, but I don’t feel it,
and I don't understand you better.
I wonder if everyone can see the sadness I carry.
Or is it an invisible weight that only I know of?
Can you see the clouds above my head?
I feel like a ghost of an old self most days.
I put on a dress for her today.
Brushed my hair and put on lipstick,
grasping for just one moment of how it once was.
I thought I’d find her again with you,
but she only drifted further.
The longer I stayed,
the longer the journey back home got.
Today is the day I leave.
Today, I go home to her.