you are not in wonderland ➵ poems

droplets

You're lying in bed as the
rain hits the windows and you
carefully inhale slow through
chapped lips, eyelashes fluttering.
You think: I might be okay.
You think: perhaps I like November.
But you turn over and she isn't
next to you; her pillow smells
like her favourite shampoo. The
room, house... everything feels too
big without her. (You know she'll
always come back to you, though.
And that makes the weather feel
less lonely and more like hope.)