When the door kissed the frame and the handle you held turned quiet.
I knew you were gone forever.
Though you would turn it a few more times you were never quite inside.
And from your weight the steps would not be talking.
So in that room I did lay through the marathon of each day,
Feathers grew deep from each of your eyelash,
The winter crept in and the sun and snowflakes mixed,
The sounds from the highway outside filled my pockets.
I thought about that night and the words I said that tired.
To breathe a mile under the ocean.
And the voices from underneath that third floor where I would sing,
bounced back and forth while time was stopping.
So the dust began to collect until it measured to my neck,
and the wallpaper matched the color of my eyes.
I began to think of ways to make the hour pay,
for stealing all of my time.
Then the tone did resonate that shook me from decay,
from the bottom of the back of the dark night.
For the door was to open again though it was with my own hand,
and it left an empty room truly quiet.
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