I'll See You in the Morning

On slow weekends when the sun is late to set,

when conversations find no words,

I sit there on the floorboards of my lonely house,

watching windows scatter rooms with curtain cut-outs of light,

as the corners play with shadows.

And i see walls fall in love, finding a place

where they can touch and not fall from it.

I listen as the ceiling and floor have small talk,

and how their views of the world

weren’t as upside down as they thought.

But night soon creeps in, and the curtains curl inwards

and I whisper to this house that is now too quiet and dead,

to not forget to wake up in the morning.