The Quiet Visitor

Isn't this the chair you sat in every time I came to visit?

I see it here now, pushed back from the table and turned to one side. What were you thinking the last time you left it this way?

Where did you go?

And this. Is this the glass you sipped from on those long afternoons you spent trying to sustain us? It's nice, this glass. Warm to my touch. But when was the last time you held it in your hand?

The room's as cluttered as I remember it, but somebody is missing. I should straighten one of those picture frames on the wall, but I'm so clumsy, I'd knock them all down.

Where's the light? It gets dim here at this time of day. I guess I didn't realize how shadowy the room could become without one of us to liven it up. How many days did you sit in this chair by yourself, waiting for me to appear?

The rest of the world is so much bigger than this room, and so is your heart. I know you're out there somewhere and I hope every day finds you less lonely than the last. I guess I'm not really going anywhere for a while. So I'll stay here and keep these dreary walls awake until you return.

You won't know it. But I was here. Are you sure that glass is in the exact same place you left it?

He's missed and missing and misses you, but he's a million miles away. So smile,

laugh,

cry,

run,

and live, you wild little heart.

Forgive me for being gone.