you got up
to answer the doorbell
and left everything as it had been;
the pages of your book
facind down
your unmade bed
and its rumpled sheets;
they've long gone cold.
i stand in the middle of the room,
the only breathing thing
in a place that's been stuck in time.
i dare not touch a thing,
for it could erase your touch,
the stories you have to tell
of when you touched them.
i'm still waiting
for you to come back
and touch the 'resume' button
of your life
and tell me
that whover it was
that rang the doorbell of your home,
it was just a mistake
and they had already gone away.
i know that won't happen,
that you followed the stranger
and are now somewhere far,
but my heart still hopes
that you will come back,
any moment now,
and continue reading your book;
come on, please,
your story can't be left unread!
©rey_
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