It’s 12 a.m.,
and it’s been another day without you.
do you wonder about me?
Do you think about that night
where I traced your freckles with my fingers,
like constellations in the night sky?
Or the day the rains came,
and all we had was each other,
your grandma’s quilt,
and the hushed crackling of the fire at our feet?
I’ll never forget the way your fingers
would lace seamlessly into mine,
or the pulse of your heartbeat
against my lips.
It’s 1 a.m.
and it will be another day