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I Wake Up There, Too

Poetry

And I think it was me.

Maybe it's the fact that that I sleep in socks some nights

and my cold feet don't search for yours under the covers anymore.

It could be that you're working so hard, and I'm working so not hard

and you think I'm lazy, which I am, and it's no longer "cute" anymore.

It could surely be that when I'm playing with your hair, my fingers sometimes get caught

How I can't remember if your birthday is in April or May

Or how I sometimes lose balance if we hug too long...

Maybe it's because I always fall asleep on the couch

And you're sick of carrying me to bed

It could be because I cry over everything and I shiver over the slightest breeze

And you're sick of holding me

And maybe it's me.

Maybe it's the fact that I pop my jaw a lot, and you hate it

Or maybe because you no longer tell me to stop when I bite my fingernails

And you're tired of our hands getting sweaty when they're together for too long

And maybe...

It's possible

That love gets old

And the quirky things become pet peeves.

And now

I can't wear socks to bed anymore or I feel like I'm suffocating

I have two jobs, I work every day, and your birthday is on May second

I'm dressing warmer this winter and I've stopped biting my nails

I did this for you.

And still...

When I fall asleep on the couch, I wake up there, too. 

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