I check my watch every day at four thirty.
Sometimes, I still think I hear the sound of your car.
I knew I would live through this but
I never thought it would be against my will.
Every day at four thirty, I park in my garage
and cry because I know the house is empty
except for all my useless things and at least
I am alive but I’ve never wanted this badly to die.
I have allowed traces of you to stick around.
Some mornings, they’re all I have.
Every time it rains I start a fire and watch it burn
and remember all the reasons you gave me to laugh.
I’ve stopped inviting people over. I end up in the kitchen
alone, wishing your ghost could makes jokes like you used to.
Every time it rains I miss the fireplace
and how warm your laugh used to be.
I guess the rest is nothing but smoke and
when this fire goes out all I will be left with
are the things I couldn’t get off my chest
and the ways I couldn’t make you fit -
but nothing will sink me faster than
way nothing else fits without you.