First Thing in the Morning

she smells
like yesterday
I tell myself
as I struggled
to climb
out of bed
as memories
of who I am
come flooding in.
sometimes
I forget
who I am
but the music
is familiar
and her hair
is sweet
and
gentle
and always
there.
my eyes are
the slowest
to wake
so I keep them
closed
and I reach over
finding her rough
hand and I
locked her fingers
between mine
and she squeezes
back. it was a
dreamless
night
but no one
remembers their dreams
anyway.

by,

Aidyl Abadi, KL.

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