Windows

I cried myself to sleep last night.
I think I love you, he said
and I said I’m sorry.

Tonight I sleep with the window open
and ignore where his presence used to be.
The cold distracts me from his absence.

Passing cars substitute themselves
for the creaking of the mattress under his weight,
the wind a poor replacement for his breathing
from the other side of the bed.

Tonight I sleep with the window open
and remind myself
that there are worse things than the cold.