Like turning off the light but leaving on the lamp,
you can see the corner of the room where it is,
where the boxes of pictures collect dust,
where the old letters start to rip
but you keep the lamp on
for fear of losing sight
of boxes you hide
from yourself
you lie


you miss him
and you pretend you don't
you feel it every time you kiss another
inside you tighten up and get a chill in your bones
you put the memories away but will not throw them out
becuase in the back of the room you still see the door by the lamp
and you still wish he would come through it and say he's figured it out