Traces of You, 92.

Waking up is never my choice

I would prefer to stay in my dreams

Where you are with me 

and not miles away

 

I wake to the ding of my phone

But I know it brings traces of you

In messages, in photos

In the hours of calls logged

 

Today's weather report is up

It is not my weather I check though

England is going to be rainy today

I need to remind you to bundle up

 

You remind me to wear the jumper

The gray one, whose smell of you has faded

But you know I can still feel traces of you

In every fiber of the material, I feel you

 

The temptation to stay home, to continue

Talking, messaging, calling on my phone

Is never going to go away

Not until you come home, to me.

 

The real reason I get up each morning

Apart from the "Good morning!" messages from you

Is to look at the calendar, and check my countdown.

92 days until my love comes home. 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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