Every day, in the evening, by the door, I wait for your return. Once upon a time you would smile and say hello, but today you look and walk past me.
(“I’m home.” Then a smooth kiss. A swift hug. Then up the stairs to change, and back down for dinner.)
During afternoons, I would walk out the door and tend to the garden of flowers and grass that grow and leave me behind. The soil is kind enough to bear the burden of my many strangled sighs.
During the day I would walk out the door, and sigh, then smile at no-one in hopes that nothing would change. And the door frame is strong enough to hold my weight when it feels like nothing else is, so though I could not walk out, I could at least sit it out until night when you come home and pick me off the ground.
Every day, in the morning, you walk out the door and I say goodbye.
(“I’m leaving.” Then a smooth kiss. A swift hug. Then out the door, into the taxi, away…)