on this day.

sleepwalking on the moon.

xxi. SLEEPWALKING ON THE MOON.

the wind whistles your name
a box empty
yet i still see your stuff towering over

the creaks in the floor
don't bellow out the way they use to
when you awoke in the morning

the music
that hummed through the bedroom wall
from the kitchen
doesn't wake me anymore

instead i wake to silence
digging so far into my head
that the buzzing doesn't leave me alone
even when i turn the volume of the television all the way up

it's as if
my soul wants to pretend
that you're not truly gone
but just away for a while

she still wants to crawl up the jungle gym
that your bones have created within your chest

to swing from the strings of your heart
that doesn't make you ache
but sing

pepper small kisses on the butterflies
that fall flat in your stomach when my name
leaves someones mouth, asking me about my whereabouts
and hopefully shock them well enough
so that my name doesn't bring dread
but remembrance

and maybe
just maybe

she'll find her way to your head
where the ineffable thinking of yours begins
but never seems to end

and with each step of hers
you'll take one too
back to where it all began

back to where it was never supposed to end.