I was thinking the other day about how I haven't been able to write about you. I haven't taken the time to tell the world what lies beneath you. now all I have is time to think-I'm trying to to write you away by paying attention to the details as i scrape every bit of paint off the floor. The beautiful things you would say to me even if I didn't believe. The air is filled with silence in this empty house the dog even lies still patiently waiting for something to happen. The key left on the counter shouts at me, you're all alone. This time wasn't your time. I don't want to move but things need to be done, the painted room needs cleaned. The laundry folded. Placement of everything I now have put on the shelves that no longer exist. Love is a funny thing when you let it happen to you. If your not careful it will snap you in two. Different than the others you were. Butterflies are no longer flying as they call to the floor where I lay my head listening to the wood beneath me. This empty room will not talk back. The tears I will fight back, as I pick up the broom and pay attention to the dust that needs sweeping on the floor.


-- Posted from my iPhone