on the darkest mornings

I wake a little early, just to reach over and feel that you're still
there. To feel like there's someone on my side in all of this, to
feel like I'm not alone.

Even if you're not facing me, even if you're turned away and still
sleeping, just feeling the warmth of your body makes me feel better.

On the darkest mornings, I can't do these things. I am alone, and the
bed is cold. I can't rub my feet against yours or kiss your forehead.
On the darkest mornings, I wish that I could. I wish that you knew
how much I want it — on the darkest mornings.

(This was something I wrote Sarah last November. Doesn't seem to matter now, but I kinda liked it, and these are definitely the darkest mornings.)