I’m lost in my own house
Memories are painted everywhere
They remind me like painful scabs
That my house was once a home.
I’m lost in my house
Because it feels like you are
Around every corner
But I can’t find you anywhere.
Your absence is everywhere.
It has left wells
Invisible inside each room.
Cold, dry, and hollow, they echo you.
They make me swear
That I can hear you
(your pitter-patter,
or your snoring,
or your breathing)
They make me swear
That I can still see you
(laid down to nap
on the couch,
or on our bed)
They make me swear
That I can still feel you
(lumped beside my feet,
sprawled on top,
of the covers of our sheets)
The only thing real
The only thing left
Is your scent
That still clings to the blankets
Even with all these empty wells
In all of these empty rooms
I have only one hopeless wish.
Just one little wish.
To find you in our house
To make your way back home.
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 12:13 PM UTC
I’m lost in my own house
Memories are painted everywhere
They remind me like painful scabs
That my house was once a home.
I’m lost in my house
Because it feels like you are
Around every corner
But I can’t find you anywhere.
Your absence is everywhere.
It has left wells
Invisible inside each room.
Cold, dry, and hollow, they echo you.
They make me swear
That I can hear you
(your pitter-patter,
or your snoring,
or your breathing)
They make me swear
That I can still see you
(laid down to nap
on the couch,
or on our bed)
They make me swear
That I can still feel you
(lumped beside my feet,
sprawled on top,
of the covers of our sheets)
The only thing real
The only thing left
Is your scent
That still clings to the blankets
Even with all these empty wells
In all of these empty rooms
I have only one hopeless wish.
Just one little wish.
To find you in our house
To make your way back home.
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