Before the sun rises

I stare across me— at the empty chair, blank picture frame, and broken wall clock that ticks slowly.

Most nights— I think of you. You lay beside me as you hold my hand and raise it against the fluorescent lamp. You’d squint as the light passes through the crevices of our interlaced fingers. But I, I will look at you. The light shining on your face. It is perfect, it has always been.

Some nights— when I can’t sleep, I stare at the blank picture frame. At 3:00 am, I think of you. Of how you used to squint your eyes when you see me from a distance. So I stare at the darkness, Perhaps, if I squint hard enough, I’d see you here.

But tonight— just before the sun rises, I think of you. When you can only hear the sound of distant cars passing by, the city waking up, and the slow ticks of the broken wall clock. Tick, tick, tick. As I still stare at the empty chair, and blank picture frame,

I think of you— and maybe, just maybe, you are thinking of me too.

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