We are imperfect friends, you and I—
each occasionally disrupting the other’s plans, 
sources of periodic irritation and frequent bewilderment. 
I did not imagine that our long-anticipated parting would discomfit me so. 
I am scared.
I had thought about your leaving in abstract terms, 
but now we know the day.
You are busy tidying, tying up loose ends, 
meeting people for what could be the last time, 
expressing grave thanks.
Insomnia lurks near my bed.
It waits for me to conclude my evening ritual 
and compose myself for sleep.
Then, it settles in beside me,
all sharp elbows and stage whispers,
filling the space and hours with worry 
about how my life will look alone.

Christina E. Petrides