I miss whispers of the house
you make when you're around
the creaking of the floorboard above
the patter of feet on stairs
I miss the tone of your voice
and the glint in your eyes
The way you catch a look at me
when we simply pass each other by.
When you're not here,
I'm not here
because part of me is always with you
And although the times are few
the thought terrifies me sometimes
if you didn't come back
what of me would be left behind?
What would I suddenly lack?
