Waking up, I realize he’s not here, again.
I find him on the bedroom floor,
not sure what time he came in.
Last night, a few words were exchanged,
he had more important things to do,
a game had started he had to finish,
or pixel points would be taken away.
He poked his head in once or twice,
after new games were accepted,
then I retired to bed, defeated,
unwilling to wait for his game to never end.
Frustrated tears stained my pillow,
sleep swiftly came and went,
and now I wake up to the reality that
I cannot fathom continuing
the wait for pittances of interaction.
I distance my heart further,
knowing it’s all I can do for now,
and that one day he will be abandoned,
that our game will end too.
Emily Cloward © 2016 – 2018 (Revised)
Find more of my poems at The Melancholy Spitfire