Today I looked around my house and thought
about what another would think if they
entered here and I never returned.
Would they question the laundry still
stitting in baskets in the bedroom?
Would their eyes scan my kitchen for
unwashed dishes to discern my last meal?
Would they sit on my couch and wonder
how often I sat there looking out the window
willing my soul to be free of this human
trap? Or maybe they would look at the
photos scattered about to find out who
I am and who is important to me?
The box of love letters upstairs might
be of interest. But I think overall
they would never know me even by these
things that are pieces and parts of
a life less ordinary. What we leave behind
can never show them what we take with us.
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