It’s not so bad. At night, sleeping in this space,
Indentations of you long gone. The wall is further away,
I don’t cry into paint anymore. It’s funny how loneliness works,
How my eyes open against dark is less scary since you’ve left.
At first it was adjusting to lack of warmth—I added
Another comforter, then another. You used to hate my feet cold
On top of yours—having you meant allowance
For hatred of socks and all things confining.