I still approach the precipice
Rather than opt for the safety of the middle place.
I act as if he is there with me
And I, trying to make room,
Move to outer orbit,
As if that extra inch or two would matter.
Even on the occasions I am alone
I pretend as if I am not.
I go to places in my mind,
Wondering what it will be like
When that opposite side of the bed is empty
And he teeters precariously near the edge unnecessarily,
Without me there to take up space.