Dear lost lover,
I miss you in the morning.
My coffee doesn’t taste right without the hint of
that you used to add to it.
The birds don’t sound as good as they used to without
along with them.
Late Sunday mornings aren’t the same without
me up in the blankets and burying me with
The simple bacon and eggs that
you would cook for me on Saturdays
haven’t been made in months.
Your Monday morning coffee mug
hasn’t been touched,
and your Friday morning playlist
hasn’t been played.
I miss watching
you get ready for work on Wednesdays
and listening to
you complain about how
you wished you could
spend more time in bed
and I miss the Thursday mornings when
we’d sit on the couch and
watch old Full House episodes.
- I visit your grave on Tuesdays.