Mitchell's Mustard Blog

February 18, 2011

Missing

Filed under: A Little Something — mitchellsmustard @ 7:57 pm

I set two places for breakfast, some things will never change. I can hear your footsteps coming down the stairs but it doesn’t matter how long I look at the kitchen door I can’t be certain that you’re going to walk through it. Not seeing your name on the post that comes through the door is just an unkind reminder, I can imagine the post man laughing as he walks back up the path. This house seems so silent without you, no hair dryer in the morning to wake me up, no chart pop echoing through the rooms, no noise of you washing up and calling me to come dry. All the little things I’d take for granted and the little things that would get on your nerves. No shopping lists or jobs to do on a Sunday morning, no moaning when I’d forgotten to do any of them. No more fresh lipstick marks on the bathroom mirror, it didn’t matter how many times I wiped it off you would replace it by the next couple of days. I haven’t got the heart to remove the latest one, not just yet. I look in the bathroom mirror and I can see you enticing me into the shower with you, the smile on your face because life is good. I haven’t had the chance to move your shoes from the hallway, take your coat from the banister; I haven’t even changed the bedding from fear of losing your presence. The teasing scent of you catches me off guard around the house and my heart will drop, I imagine you’ll be standing behind me but I never get used to the disappointment of turning around. This house has no warmth, grey and old from the doors to the walls. Colours just don’t seem as bright; the daily newspaper just not important. Food just tastes the same as the meal before. Hearing you breathe next to me when I can’t sleep, Hearing your voice in the other room but you’re not there when I come to answer. Looking for your warm embrace when I return from work and wanting to hear the details of your day.

The lifelong game of hide and seek with a silhouette of imagination, always a beautiful dream that feels like reality. Love with smoke and mirrors, echoes of what could be. Room to room realisation that you’re a chameleon, you’re but hidden behind my longing eyes. No one can touch your life like I can because deep down . . . . . . . You’re but just a lonely dream.

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