I can’t put any reason to why you left, the door you walked through is hard to shut.
I can’t find oil for it’s hinges, the thought of your lifeless body has rusted them solid.
Perhaps the natural flow will bring us to allow the breeze to come in, after all it seems that’s what attracted you most. You now blow in the wind with bits of cotton.
Now I am left only to my thoughts in place of your smile, is it I that knew something you didn’t see. Or are you the one who held the truth.
There is something incredibly poetic from the sound of a crooked door. You fill my ears with lyric. Perhaps we don’t have to say our goodbyes after all.