I built you a home in my head
and in it I waited for you
day and night.
I wandered the many rooms I gave to you
and sat in the many chairs I set out for the waiting.
I watched out the windows of my eyes.

I decorated it to welcome you, and only you.
Every piece of furniture and hanging frame
was chosen so when you arrived
you would want to stay.

The light came and went,
I made sure it hit the rooms in all the right places.
Our kitchen was bright in the mornings
and the library glowed orange at sunset.

You didn’t come
and so I waited.

The weeks swelled into months
and seasons came and went.
In the summer it was airy and cool
the doors, propped open for you,
brought in the scent of grass and lemonade.
In the winter it was warm and quiet,
and smelled of cinnamon like your hair.

I waited and watched,
and you didn’t come.

Years rose and set like the sun
and the house grew dusty.
Paint peeled and the color lost its luster,
tired from years of expectation.
The walls settled and the floorboards creaked,
asking for you when it was only my steps.

The bed sagged into a frown
when I climbed in alone at night.
Even the windows grew cloudy,
muddling the light and obscuring my vision.
In winter the wind shook and it groaned with aching.
Still, the house was warm
and smelled of cinnamon like your hair.

Still, you didn’t come.
Still I waited.

One morning in midspring,
when the open windows brought
rose-scented air to rouse me from sleep,
I felt my bones were too tired to sit up
and resume the waiting.

The bed heaved a sigh in my loneliness,
curling around my aching joints and wrinkled skin.
I stayed there all day, listening to the house call for you
in all its creaks and groans.
It sounded tired like me.

I watched the way the light shifted from morning into afternoon
and finally to the peachy-purple haze of sunset.
Then, in the moment between twilight and night,
the house was quiet.
The light lowered below the windows
and all was dark.

A memory came to me
of a home I had built
with many rooms and many chairs.
Who it was for I could not remember
but its emptiness echoed through the halls of my bones
until my heart grew tired of waiting and finally
stopped.