after goodbye

I move the furniture around and buy a new plant to replace the one he left with.

I decorate the coffee table he built and think of the day when he sat down on the couch and with my hands in his, committed to starting a home with me.

“I’ll build us a coffee table” he said.

looking back now it all seemed so promising,

the singular becoming plural, our lives merging.

Now the plural reverts to the singular

because this home is again

just mine.


I have put thought into every corner of this place. I manifested a home and I love it in a way I’ve never loved four walls before.

I just hate having to see him around here these days.

No matter how much palo santo I burn to cleanse him out of my space, he is still holding me naked against that wall, our lips tasting of mezcal, my hand pulling on the hair at the nape of his neck as we both give in to sin.

he is still sitting beside me on the couch

talking nonstop about this thing or the other

And I’m still cooking him dinner with only an apron on,

still lighting the candles and serenading him as I dance around,

still looking over at him with awe,

still giving away

so much love.


it’s sickening.


I’m still sitting here

waiting for him to come home

just like I always did

Back when there was a we.


Categories Creative Writing, Poetry, ProseTags , , , , ,

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