Cold

I lay my head on the side of the bed

Where you rest yours.

Your hoodie is my blanket,

Held tight to my chest

Soaking in every phantom trace

Of you,

Of your scent,

Of your hair,

Anything trapped in these cold sheets.

Surrounding myself with pillows

And soft things

To feel like you’re next to me.

Your warmth isn’t here.

I want to come home.