It is still summer for a while yet,
But home is seeming less and less like home.
By now, the bed is empty. By now the cupboards are empty. By now every room and every corner is empty. But what bothers me is that broken screen door.
It is still summer for a while yet, and that door just keeps swinging, waiting to close, but everybody who passes knows it won't. Everybody knows but me. Everybody sees.
It reminds me of the time you fell and skinned your knee, and we had to wash it in the tub. Or the time when the paper boy kept throwing the news into the sprinkler.
And I remember falling in love in this house. And I remember that in the end our hearts were broken, just like that swinging screen door.
I remember you and your skinned knee.
That a sincere part of me is not enough is evidence that I was unfair. You deserved the whole. The most that I share.
But by now the bed is empty. By now all of the cupboards are empty. By now every room and every corner and every damned bit of this house is empty. And what bothers me is that broken screen door.
It's still summer for a while yet, and that door keeps swinging, waiting for you to come back home.