You left in me the vacancy of almosts,
a house I created in my heart that was never lived in;
now the wallpaper peels and the floorboards creak
with the weight your feet never placed on them
and I sit alone on the roof, too scared to go in,
staring up at the night sky, looking at the moon,
thinking about the constellations we formed when we touched--
how you dipped my neck back, pressed your lips to me,
grazed at my veins with your teeth,
left bruises but never quite let me bleed.

A week ago I was in your arms, trying to let my guard down.
I sit alone now-- too scared to go in, too scared to try again.