I prefer pictures of you on my ceiling.
This one color is too plain.
A mirror would be too revealing.
Like wearing no bra in the rain.
Maybe counting the hands on the clock will do.
Just to pass all this time.
Until it brings me you.
To occupy this space full-time.
The side of the bed I’ve been neglecting.
Empty spaces seem to do a lot of reflecting.
I don’t want it there anymore.
This is in no way better than before.
I hope I’m not doing this alone.
I hope my heart is strong enough to bring you home.
I need you next to me.
Even if ceiling pictures are meant to be.