She Was Fast Asleep by Tiffany Moton

she was fast asleep on the morning i woke to the realization
that she did not love me
a narrow beam of taunting morning light peeked between
the curtains while i packed up my things
i admit i liked the way my old sweater looked hanging off the railing
proof that i existed here
i hung my sweater right there on that railing
and to take it back to would be to erase myself
instead, i lingered for a moment, imagining that maybe
just maybe she would open her eyes as she
heard the front door close, reach for me only to find my
side of the bed made up, my pillow cold
she’d find my sweater still dangling by the stairs,
and breathe a brief sigh of relief
she would call out my name as she wandered from room to room
and eventually discover my fresh pack of smokes missing
from the kitchen counter, without a note to reassure her i’d
be back soon!
i imagined maybe her heart would skip a beat when she noticed
my missing keys, my missing scarf
and my snow boots gone from the balcony
listening for footsteps but hearing only the sound
of her own breathing, she would suddenly feel
the absence of my presence heavy in her chest
the vanishing scent of my perfume
drifting through the air, out the door and i imagined
for just a second she
might wish that she had loved me

but i suppose it is more likely that she will wake at noon,
relieved; open the windows
freed of my reclusive nature, my preference for
the entirety of her attention, insatiable thirst for her affection,
to feel her hand on mine
desperate to find that erotic spirit i once glimpsed
in her now despondent eyes,
lovelessly she’ll sip her coffee
listen to the bluebirds singing outside, forget even to question
why I didn’t say goodbye
instead she’ll throw away my old ashtray and
dance naked through the kitchen
cooking breakfast for one, finally go for that run
grateful the facade is over and done and
i made it so damn easy for her to move on
delighted at her solitude, ever so pleased that
she was fast asleep on the morning i woke
to the realization
that she did not love me

Tiffany-Amber Moton is a 23 year old New Yorker with a penchant for writing love poetry on bar napkins and oversharing to strangers. After studying politics and writing at Pace University, she self-published her first book, A Lonely Trip Down the Rabbit Hole in late November. Tiffany hopes to continue writing poetry about difficult topics and sharing it with others for the rest of her life and has plans to continue publishing until she finally runs out of things to say. (Never.)

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