Some mornings are better than others
Some mornings hang suspended with nostalgia, longing, and remembrance
These mornings are spent in kitchens cooking giant ridiculous breakfasts for the lover that lays asleep in your bed
These mornings you are pulled back into bed with kisses and hugs from that beautiful person in your room, their joy rippling through the house

These mornings are spent with friends crashed on your couch, laughter filling the early morning cold with it's warmth
In these mornings with friends, a secret language of shorthand is spoken as laughter halts sentences a word or two in
In these mornings, being human being feels like all we need to be

Despite what we tell ourselves and believe
Our wells of emotion are not infinite
There is a boundary, a tipping point
Where we overflow

And when we overflow we flood those close to us
We seep into their wells
We must remember to keep balance
To attempt not to tip the scales
To keep space in our wells
To remember not to fill our well too high
So that we have space for ourselves and for others
Because we are not alone

She fits
curled up in the corner of a bed too large for just him
her tears dripping down the wall
wet like blood, but no stain
Only the two will remember
the loneliness in company,
how two can be one, apart,
hot two can be one,
how two can be one less than one,
how one is lost in two
and where there were two there is one

She disappears into the corner
words she won't speak collapse upon the sheets that envelope her
his tears can't cross the ocean between them
the sea is neither more or less wet