an unmade bed

I walked into the room

and glanced at the bed

that main focal point

right smack in the middle

of such a large wall

with windows that frame our headboard.

The blankets were folded

so simple and tidy

like dog-eared pages

one on each side

my space, the left

and yours is always the right.

It looked so planned out

like purposeful sleeping

back lying to back

then leaving our presence

without even speaking

one solitary single word.

I recall phoning you

unfolding the scene

no omission of details

you said, I was silly

no reasons for worry,

I felt so dramatically needy.

Then biting my lip

I hung up the phone

cursing that weakness

that makes me question everything

even paranoid messages

that whisper from an unmade bed