I am still here,
spine bowed like prayer on the floor ,
heart burning like a candle
you forgot to blow out.


Come home,
when your hands remember our softness.
I’ll be waiting—
still yours,
still lit,
still aching.

I'm a house haunted by our future
And things you've said
New buyers come through  and I scare them away.

You're planning a new build with someone else,

How lovely.

That morning when I’d first heard of your departure,
I cursed the sun—how dare it beam through my window,
how dare it attempt to warm my skin?

I was filled, for just a moment,
with a rage I couldn’t swallow,
as I picked mulberries
and their juice stained my quivering lips.

Birds sang at your funeral—
their songs couldn’t drown out your father’s grief.
The same birds I’d spend months shooing away
from the fresh soil where you were laid.

For weeks, as I’d drive to work,
I’d spew hatred at the stars—
scattered so carelessly in front of me.
They mocked my loneliness with their togetherness.

I hate that you’re gone.
I hate that I know
that the stars would go on shining without me, too.