I could pretend to be okay.
I could get drunk after so many bottles of beer.
I could dance the night away
as though
you were in one of the tables
watching me from a distance.
I could try to forget
that you’re not here.
But when the night is over
And everyone has gone,
The ghost of you remains,
and the truth catches up with me:
That I am all alone.
That you are miles away,
And this thing
around my waist
is not your arms
but my pretentious pillow
trying desperately
to take your place.
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