Finding Time

The laughter we shared.
The passion spent.

The scent of you lingers in the sheets
as I watch you dress to leave.
Another night,
another morning,
the same each time.
Nothing good can come of this.
No sound as you reach the door.
I roll over and cry myself to sleep.
When will our turn come?
When will we be first?
There is always something more
important it seems
than me and you.

Morning comes too quickly
and the nights aren't long enough.
Memories haunt me through the day
and fantasies rule my night.
Days without you seem to last forever.
Nothing good can come of this.
I cry myself to sleep again.
Life gets in the way
of my loving you.
There is always something that
pulls you from me.
When will our turn come?
When will we be first?