I hate leaving home on days like these: when I can hear your ghost in the kitchen washing the same dish 6 times because you won’t be able to sleep with ketchup staining your second favorite dish in the cupboard.
You told me that if you were a tree you would want to be a maple, because in Autumn they leave red finger prints on sidewalks like ****** clues left behind at the scene of the crime.
I hate leaving home on days like these: when I see your ghost sitting on top of the cushioned window seat so you can count the rain droplets running across the glass outside, one finger tracing a path or water and one finger twisting your hair again and again.
I told you that if I was a tree I would be a willow, my arms reaching down to the ground you stood on, roots reaching out for the sidewalks you walked on, trunk reaching up to the clouds you loved more than you loved me.
I hate leaving home on days like these: when I am a willow constantly weeping.