The Empty Side of the Bed

I’m lonely. I feel it every time my palm rests on the pillow next to mine in bed. I feel it in the coolness of the cotton cloth. No one’s head lays there. No one’s body warms the other half of the bed. It’s just me.

I used to sleep in the middle, just because I could. When I relish my singledom, my limbs spread across the extents of the bed. It’s mine, all mine. Fuck no, I’m not sharing.

Lately I have been sleeping on one side of the bed. I had been doing this for months before I realized–I’m leaving a place for him.