For days, foliage sat by my porch
which I've been waiting to sweep.
But the wind always seems to know what I want.
It always does the work for me.
I've planned on sitting on the couch with you
but you don't seem to sit there anymore,
only the wind does. Only my own air.

I've been accustomed to making two coffees in the morning.
But your full coffee cup always sits there until it's cold
and I always take too much to drink, that I just throw away yours.
It's a waste that even I am accustomed to bringing two plates with me to dinner when no on sits on the other seat beside me.
It is still the air that sits there.

I feel so lonely, that I talk to myself about the things that have happened; of things that never did,
just to hear you respond.
To tell me it was all a lie.
And you never answer me. Only the air does.
Only the wind blows me away.

For days, foliage sat by my porch
which I've been waiting to sweep.
But the wind has been always there,
where you should've been.
And I laugh, because it's unnatural now.
To be conforming to something that isn't even there.