the basement where we once

spent all of our time together

sits now in everlasting darkness, 

cobwebs stretching across the tables

that hold your long-forgotten 

beautiful creations. 

​

wallpaper peels under my fingertips, 

leaving me to hold fragments of a bleached sky. 

a photograph hangs from

a corkboard drowning in newspaper clippings

​

the people, once-grand subjects of a loving picture, 

stand as silhouettes in faded colors.

​

your ghost watches me from the corner, 

a faceless being that taunts my pain and knows

i can't speak to you anymore, 

​

nor see how your eyes crinkle when you smile, 

nor hear the rich timbre of your voice

that commanded attention. 

​

for mercy

for more time

for anything but what 

i have to endure now. 

​

outside, clouds give way to soft sunlight that

faintly drifts in through the little window

that you had always kept covered, 

allowing dust bunnies to 

dance through the spotlight

for an audience of one. 

​

the room is illuminated 

in the gentle glow 

revealing what has sat here, 

abandoned and alone, 

for the past

eight years. 

​

​pick one of your beloved toys

off of the table now unveiled, 

​

holding it

​

to my chest

​

and if to hug

​

you. 

​

​

if you had the option, 

you wouldn't have left me

alone in the house you built.

you wouldn't have missed my graduation, 

or cole's thirteenth birthday, 

or when we finally convinced abby to play basketball.

​she's a natural, and cole is growing up

to be an amazing young man, 

just as you once were.