To Be Left Behind

there’s a pile of your

clothes with nowhere

to go.

 

they remain on the

table, folded as if

lost in rejection.

 

they echo our aimless

steps, our eyes that

linger in the spaces

 

where you aren’t.

 

our breath that

catches as we wait

for your words, that

never come.

 

for your key in the

door.

 

i found a hairclip.

it pierced my hand as

i held it.

 

a drop of blood

in the crease of my

thumb.

 

i remember your face

creased with frustration.

half anger, half mirth.

 

 

i think i miss you…

i think we all do.