the sleeping bag beside mine is empty
and in the morning i will pack it with me for the day
again
she loved camping
my beard grows long and tangled with my regret
i imagine her here, beside me
still i hear her voice
punishing myself
for the times i did not listen
for the kind words i left unspoken
for the times i was too busy to sit, to chat
i do not miss the expensive trips or the restaurant meals or the anniversary gifts
i miss the plain, the simple
their miracle
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