Denial.

He’s still here; he never left.

Why else would there be tea in the kettle

And lasagna in the oven?

His keys are where they always are,

So he couldn’t have gone far.

I’m sure of it.

He’ll be back.

Anger.

How fucking dare he?

How could he do this, how could he leave for so long?

Without even saying goodbye?

Did I mean so little? Did I mean anything at all?

He better have gone far;

If I ever see him again, he’ll wish 

He’d never come back.

Bargaining.

Is this because I ate too much?

Because I scratched the couch? 

Because I yelled too loud?

I’ll stay quiet, I’ll listen more, I’ll do better.

I promise I’ll do better. I’ll try harder.

I’ll do whatever he wants, just… please.

Please come back.

Depression.

I’m so tired.

I can’t remember the last time I left the house,

But it must have been with him,

Because every time I look out the window

I can see him waving for me to join him.

I know he’s not really there.

But I can’t stop watching the door.

Acceptance. 

I miss him, still.

But less and less.

I’m learning to live without him.

I cleaned up, I went outside, I saw the sun again.

It’s so bright, and maybe he see it, too.

But wherever he is,

He’s not coming back.