Off-Script

In response to Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt #294 – SCRIPT in 100 words

One-thirty in the morning
and you are not here
I reach for your pillow
it’s cold and it’s bare

This bed grows bigger
each night I lay in it alone
Beneath mounds of covers
and still chilled to the bone

Three-thirty has passed
it’s now close to six
These little snatched moments
playing life’s pick-up-sticks

In the script I had written
the one for my life
It was me who you’d chosen
in life as your beloved wife

Like the saddest of movies
the most tragic of all plays
Only in our memoirs
will these be the good old days

11 Comments

  1. Sadje says:

    A very touching poem Ami.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Sadje says:

        You’re welcome my friend

        Liked by 1 person

  2. willowdot21 says:

    So tender and beautiful 💜

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Bill says:

    Excellent, Gypsie. While a sad poem, it reflects life’s reality.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Sunra Rainz says:

    A very poignant poem, Ami ❤

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much Sunra! 🙏

      Liked by 1 person

  5. poetisatinta says:

    Beautifully sad, especially got to me the lines ‘This bed grows bigger /each night I lay in it alone’

    Liked by 1 person

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