Sleeping Alone

Some nights I sleep alone,
not because there’s no one here with me in bed.

She sleeps next to me in my bed, but I know
that she’s thousands of miles away, on the other side
of an ocean, with people I don’t know.

I do know their faces, because she’s taken
out albums and stacks of loose photos;
for the first few minutes, she’ll explain
who they are
where they are
how she misses them.

I miss her as much as they do, or more,
when each of them smiles as they
whisper to me that she belongs to them.

They remind me that she has a life already;
I’m only here for comfort
until she can be with people she loves again.

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