Until then.

She wakes up mid morning to a lazy day.
After sitting around shamelessly with no where to be,
she gets up, stands in front of the mirror,
and makes herself beautiful, though he’s not here to see.

Walking slowly — splish, splash, —
she leaves ripples in dreary puddles.
Hands are empty, held in fists.
They hold nothing but the warmth inside her pockets.

She arrives alone at the coffee shop down the road.
Sipping her latte, she watches conversation come and go.
Her lips hold sweet words — kept secret, locked away behind toothy bars.
No face to tell, no ears to hear, no heart to set them free.

And she feels the weight of joy confounded by loneliness.

Distance, forever, has separated hearts–
a cruel deceiver claiming hearts grow fonder.
But what’s so fond about being apart
from the one who holds your heart?

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