I’ve travelled past your window many times, when the sky was trying to touch darkness.
I look at the lamp that yields a soft light and the curtain that blows behind the partially opened glass.
I see the wooden table in the corner with your papers and the phone, that I have rung so many times, without you answering. Have you been busy, do you not answer it at all..to anyone?
Perhaps just not for me, for I would listen as it rang, salty tears running down into my mouth, brushing back my hair to stop it sticking to my cheeks. Mascara stinging my eyes.
I look back at the lake slow ripples transverse across the water, I look back at your window.
The trees are black not green.
Your eyes dark I remember them, you think I don’t.
The water is dark foreboding, yet it draws me.
It is cold, my toes touch it’s edges, it laps against my ankles.
Touches my stomach, half of me is numbed, my dress floats to the surface.
Each pore turned white.
The water is dark, the sky matching.
I remember your dark eyes.
I loved you.
I will be your ghost for breaking my heart.
If only you answered my calls….