I return home..

‍

To the undone dishes in the sink,

Your forgotten t-shirts in the laundry,

Broken vase that you glued together,

And my constant state of quandary.

I can still spot a strand of your hair 

in the folds of the quilt

And the impressions on the mattress

From when you left in a jilt

I return home...

To the stains of last night’s wine 

On the spotless yellow bed sheet,

To your toothbrush in my washroom

And my anxiety that I can’t seem to defeat.

To the book on my nightstand

Dog-eared on the page you planned to resume,

And to that pressed flower within

That you planted in my hair last bloom

I return home...

To the ashtray

Still smoky from the last cigarette we had.

To the room that still holds your smell

From so many summers glad.

Your side of the bed

Still has impressions from when we last stayed

And my skin still stands testament 

To the palpable love that we made

I enter…

And sit on the couch quietly

It’s only been 10 years, there’s a 100 more to go

And suddenly, it hit me...

You are the paperweight in my drawer

The beautiful painting on the wall posit

My favourite carpet on the floor

An ink stained shirt in my closet…

You were always a gloating conscience

A looming presence, mirage of sorts…

Only present in traces

never consistent or held your forts.

You were always here yet you were never there!