A Vacancy To Let

Its been a while.

But I still have moments,

Where I think of home,

When I shut my eyes tight,

And I'm back in your familiar room,

Tangled in your familiar arms,

With my head resting upon your familiar chest,

And I'm smelling the aftershave that I bought you for Christmas.

And I see the poems I wrote for you last summer.

Sometimes,

I wish that your walls could talk.

Because if they did,

I'd write down everything they said.

Spend my days turning the stories into beautiful verse.

Where every syllable is a heartbeat,

Every coma is a breath.

And in a few years,

Sat on cold stone by the fireside,

Huddled under your grandfather's blanket,

Much too small for the two of us.

With the dancing flames warming our toes,

We would take it in turns,

To read each line aloud,

And reminisce of home.

But the night grew old,

And it all got cold.

The rain put the fire out,

And the wind blew our blanket far away.

So you went inside,

To the walls I used to call home.

You took my key,

You shut me out.

I see you turn on the bedroom light.

And I hear a laugh,

twinkle light a distant bell in the lonely night.

And I know that the arms I used to call my own,

Are wrapped around a new soul.

And the chest that I used to rest upon,

Is heavy with a new love.

So I sit here.

Alone on the stone floor.

With the ash from the fire,

The puddles from the rain.

And I'm welcomed home once again.

And now,

As I'm looking out into the night sky.

I don't see stars.

I see barbed wire.

What used to bring us closer together,

Has never before set us so far apart.

We see the same sky.

But you see galaxies in her eyes,

And I'm little more than a burnt out star to you now.

A vacancy to let.

Forevermore.