Morning breath.

1.
Cold, musty, and moth-smelling,
Like the room behind the eyes.
Curtains are shut,
Dawn hides behind,
As if ashamed, to show her face
To this weary traveller of the night.

2.
There are countless mornings,
But none are like this one.
Today is the day after
I closed the door for the final time, at last.
I will not come back again,
I know it.

3.
I rise to pull back the curtains,
And let the morning breath shine
Through me.

This one thing on my mind right now.

"And start new when your heart is an empty room."

You play the piano, but you do not speak french, nor have red hair.
Still, should it be any reason for me to be less fond of you?
No, I think not.