Empty Homes

By Kelly Grace Thomas

 

The taste of caramel and autumn.

You, with your aspirations and patched elbows.

Me, with naive cursive confessions journaled hesitations,

trying to find myself in this poetic indigo.

The park, our playground, climbing on the sunsets and secrets, with their symphony of promised laughter.

Now we live in two separate houses decorated with questions

no one asks.

A suburb of our potential.

Sometimes I reach for you in the night,

forgetting you were never there.