a temporary stop

A station, a temporary stop. Home of mine.
An airport for a layover, a connecting train stop.
A flat on rent, doomed to be left alone after
false promises of forever, of laughter and love.
A hop-on-hop-off bus characterized with
merry customers one day, and
uncomfortable silences and lost conversations
the other.

Voicesin my house echo;
They hit a wall and bounce back,
hit a person and bounce back.
Questions are left hanging,
and conversations are incomplete.
Sometimes, there istoo much air
for me to breathe, just too much air
for the two of us. It issuffocating,
overwhelming.

I wish he was here more, more, more.
A little more.
He makessure his absence does not
become noticeable in the quiet corners
where dust bunnies make their homes
and creatures of the dark sleep.
If only he knew,
how good we are at pretending;
we did it every day anyways.