someday
will you walk into
my room
lie on my bed and
stare at the ceiling i stare at
every night

smell the
mishmash of
stale perfumes
on my clothing

play my guitars
read my books
touch my walls
clutch the afghans
i made in your
tight fists

and
cry?

or will you think
that somebody
made a mistake
and that mistake
wasn't me
leaving
but was you
staying?