An Empty Canvas In The Living Room

There’s an empty canvas in the living room

from the spaces in between intentions.

It’s early morning and the sun is seeping in

seamlessly, at ease, but there’s turbulence.

I look to my canvas on a small easel I placed by the bible.

I drew a face with bright eyes, outlined for the next step.

Yours sat on the table just as you’d left it.

Maybe you stepped away for a phone call.

Most days were made of maybe and you.

The day is quiet, there’s too much space

for thoughts to fill the room.

I made space for you, but you never came.

I see what they mean to feel lonely

with someone.

So what is funny is that you take “access” away

as you storm out, but it’s as though you had left already.

I would have liked to add oil-painted colour to the canvas.

Too often you’d be asleep in another room.

It is my plans that were delayed,

but yours saw you, always.

I wanted to head out to the city,

but only you do.

Maybe you were used to being alone,

losing yourself, but it was my first time

losing a lifetime.

#poetry #relationships