A Cold Cup of Lonely
an imaginative poem about missing a partner
Its 1:11AM,
You left me this morning,
And I am thinking only of you tonight.
Your smile, that I already miss,
The sound of your voice,
As it echoes in my mind
And I lay in my head,
Covered by the blankness,
Rolling over to your side of the bed.
Stirring the silence,
Of the place we call home,
I toss in hopes of finding your warmth,
But I'm here all alone.
I miss driving on a sunny day,
Reaching down for your hand,
Holding it tight,
Like every space between my fingers,
Were filled by yours,
Just right.
I day dream about our love,
With eyes open,
With eyes closed,
I reflect and contemplate constantly.
Too hot,
Too cold.
The love I feel inward,
I pour outward,
Into your cup,
Until it overflows.
I miss having coffee,
The distinct smell it throws.
I miss you pouring my cup,
In the bright morning light,
The warmth on my lips,
Not too hot or cold,
Always just right.
About the Creator
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More stories from Sophie Savannah and writers in Poets and other communities.
Dear Traveler
My cellphone rang, muffled inside of my pocket. I likely had 10 missed calls by now. I had missed my bus and was walking to the nearest block to try and catch another. The mud and gravel flowed seamlessly together combining a murky downstream as it passed by my feet. I began to walk quicker down the road, eager to make it on time. Each leap forward leaving no footsteps behind. None other than me splashing the already drenched grass on my way. The puddles exploded as I rushed through them arranging for the grass to receive much more water than it needed. Not as bad as I needed to catch this bus, I thought to myself. I’d miss my daughter’s dance recital and lord knows this next disappointment would not be the only shortcoming of mine she’d have to endure this week. My eyes fixed on the ground, trying to remain orderly as I watched my step. I became sidetracked by my thoughts, and then, by a small black book. I slowed to fix my gaze upon it as it seemed strangely out of place. It was propped up against the lamp post, barely catching a break from the rain. I should grab it, I thought to myself, perhaps place it somewhere dry for it’s owner to collect at a later time. That would be the right thing to do. I stopped to grab it and held it downwards, the leather cover shed the excess moisture it had been collecting as I searched for somewhere dry. In the open street there was very little that could remain completely untarnished by the rain. At this point, I could only see the bus shelter that I had eagerly been chasing just up ahead. I made my way towards it as I clenched the cover of the black notebook. Once inside, my inappropriate curiosity peaked just in time for me to read it’s first page before spotting the bus in the distance.
By Sophie Savannah5 years ago in Humans
Off the Book
It ended like every other stupid idea. Badly, and alone. I’m researching digital confession ethics, he said. A tech ethicist. He gestured at floating data I couldn’t see then pulled out a physical notebook. Actual paper, fountain pen. He held it up like he was showing me scripture.
By Nicky Frankly4 days ago in Fiction
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