A fake poem

I wake up to touch your words. I wake up knowing that I will not find the hand that I woke up for. But I wake up. And I will still do knowing that I will never find your hand near me again. I decided today that I will still wake up to kiss your hand encircling my body during our sleep. I know now that I love you because I wake up to kiss your hand knowing that I won’t find it around me.

The love that fills me when I wake up disappointed tells me how I love you. It tells me how boring is the expression “I love you” when we say it. Now that I decided to live with the disappointment that is your trace, and to not fear my dreams anymore when you’re not in there, I know how I love you.

I wake up longing for you. And the longing stays longing. Now that I know. I’m not waiting for you anymore. When I think of you, you’re there. I bring you on and you’re there. The only difference with the time when you were there is that when I woke up calling your name, your hand used to calm my yearning.

Your absent hand, now, calms my longing.

When I hated you, my dreams were short, bitter and unfinished. I had puffy eyes that cry in their sleep calling your hand. Now that I know how I love you, your virtual hand meets my calling skin and wakes me up to a love that is true and that will give me life to tell about it.

It’s not important now if I see you again. It’s not important if you come back.

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