cold beds and square holes

I’m not sure I can do this again
but there may not be a choice

A space
left open
by what was once there
and the curl of your arm
cold as the air outside

It’s not a tragedy
we can pick up and move on
but here was so perfect
the air stands still
and we don’t want to move

But the space stands open
and there is no way to patch it up
square holes and round pegs

You leave with what was once there
I can hear the door close
and there’s nothing to do but go back to numb

I’m not sure I can do this again.

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