Inches of mattress make for miles to reach
When you sleep with your back turned to me.
Flat on my back, I watch the ceiling fan turn.
I keep looking over hoping you'll reach for me.
Your breathing never changes; you never stir.
I turn and look over you at the bedside clock
The minutes drag by and I sigh deeply
I watch the rise and fall of your breathing.
Tears fill my eyes and I bury my face
In case my whimpers cause you to awaken.
I bite my lip and tell myself, "You can't cry."
I'm awake long before your alarm rings.
I sit up and look back at you and I smile.
While inside, I'm crying, wanting to touch you.
I reach out and you slip out of the covers.
My hand falls and so does my first tears.
I let myself cry a bit while you shower.
I make up the bed and breathe you in.
We meet at the door and I swallow my words.
You say good-bye, hug me, and kiss my cheek,
Leaving my lips, like my heart, wanting only you.