months ago,
when you left,
why did you leave
all the doors open ?

why did you not
shut the windows,
or look behind you ?
you were still welcome

I followed you, your path
until the crumbles
became so scarce
that I could go no further

I turned about & retreated
but your smoke still lingered
& your presence hung about.
the hope was suffocating

& now a draft haunts
my room, it gets cold
but I cannot bring myself
to turn the lock & shut you out

for hope, that maybe you’ll return
for fear, that you likely won’t