Left hand stops
At the middle seam
Same old room
Different gravity

Morning cuts across the sheet
Thin as wire, pale as bone
I wake up on my edge again
Like the mattress has a border zone
Your pillow keeps its stubborn shape
I don’t touch it, I don’t stare
I just count the ceiling cracks
And pretend I meant to leave it there

I can move through the house
I can answer my name
But the room knows the truth
When the daylight changes

Your side of the bed
Pulls cold at my back
I don’t cross that line
I don’t know how yet
It’s not a shrine
It’s not regret
It’s just the place love left
Your side of the bed

There’s a lamp I never turn off
There’s a drawer I never shut
There’s a clean shirt on the chair
I keep saying I’ll pick up
I don’t make a speech about it
I don’t fall apart on cue
I just reach for the blanket
And stop where it stops being used

I can move through the house
I can keep things in place
But the night has a way
Of finding that space

Your side of the bed
Pulls cold at my back
I don’t cross that line
I don’t know how yet
It’s not a shrine
It’s not regret
It’s just the place love left
Your side of the bed

Maybe someday I’ll sleep crooked
Take the middle for my own
Maybe someday this room quits asking
Why I still leave room for gone
But tonight I let the line stay
Not holy, not dead
Just a quiet little border
I’m not ready to cross yet

Your side of the bed
Pulls cold at my back
I don’t cross that line
I don’t know how yet
It’s not a shrine
It’s not regret
It’s just the place love left
Your side of the bed

Your side of the bed
No grand goodbye
Just a hand near the seam
And the morning light
I don’t call it healed
I don’t call it wrecked
I leave one inch of mercy
On your side of the bed

Left hand stops
At the middle seam
I leave it there
And let the room breathe