The Actual Him

She misses waking to the sight of his eyes on her face

The space that he filled with his everyday things

His razor and toothbrush sitting there by the sink

And she thinks

Of the cup of loose coins he kept on the table

She's able to recall with a feeling of loss

How they'd lie side by side 'neath the covers each night

He'd kiss her on the forehead and turn off the light

She misses the feel of him and the sound of him

And the all-around having him there

But to be fair, does she really care … about losing the actual him