Pillow Serenade

There’s an empty spot on the bed, next to her.
On that bed, in the very next room.
I sit up late, peering in as she sleeps -
Dreamy smiles in the light of the moon.

All her bad dreams are chased away
as TV late-night sitcoms play.
By the bed, in the very next room.

She'll wake-up soon, and stir to wonder,
as she grudgingly sways her head.
She'll sit up straight, notice it's late
and I'm not in my spot on the bed.

In certain small ways she misses me there,
But somehow, I'd rather be anywhere -
than the bed in the very next room.

There is no music if the notes don't rest
with spaces in between.
If I were there, sleeping next to her,
I couldn't watch from here, unseen.

This silence can mask the thick air of tension;
born from her lack of comprehension
in the bed in the very next room.

The minutes pass as the sitcoms play
And the grayness slowly fades away.

I see a future, and wish I did not -
as it shimmers in the blue-gray gloom.
That soon my heart must find a new spot;
away from that bed in the room.