sometimes at night, I wonder how she’s doing

not the woman I have loved, but the one that I will

not the woman who left, but the one that will stay

—

I wonder if she dreams like I do

of sleepy mornings and warm kisses

of soft cuddling and corny texting

of stolen time and “borrowed” clothes

of promises that stay intact

of a fire that doesn’t go out

—

I wonder if she feels like me right now

aching a little, missing a lot, waiting on something 

if she stays up late with her head anywhere else

I wonder if she thinks about me too

hope you’re okay

wait for me?