The covers on the bed next to me are cold.
The pillow smells like you.
Your chair is at the table still.
I sit on the windowsill, looking down on the search for you.
It should be good.
But you still didn't touch your plate of food.
Your recent painting's left unfinished.
And I see my love diminish.
I still pay the same amount of rent.
The house still carries your scent.
I still cook dinner for you.
Still...
Miss you.
I wait for the sound of your key.
To return to a home you left.
To me.
YOU ARE READING
When Your Card Gets Declined At Therapy | Poetry Collection Part 1 ©
Poetry... so they bring up the poems you wrote instead. © All written by me 2022 - 2024 Fay Willows
