difficult

It's difficult to accept sometimes
that someone knows you better
than you know yourself,
trust yourself,
love yourself.

When I awaken,
there is no sound and
no darkness.
It is not early, for there is always someone else
already awake.
There is no darkness,
nor sadness,
for nothing has happened to make it so.
The moon still shines down on me,
but I talk to no one (not even myself).
It is an hour before I finally
speak,
or even utter a cough.
I sit in the quiet solitude
of the morning and
read some poetry.

Stealthily, I enter the lightened bedroom;
she can sense my sadness
without opening an eye.
I can't tell sometimes
if she speaks to me in her sleep,
or if her subconscious detects my pain.
I do not understand
how or what she knows
because I am me,
and it is difficult.