prompt: holding on to a past loveMature

We are ashes in an ashtray I refuse to clean out,
thinking, you’ll want to come home and you’ll
want things the way you’re used to them, you’ll
want to come home and feel at home and
I know that somewhere you’re settling in to bed,
you’re growing used to the sounds beyond the windows,
you’re becoming soft under the touch of someone else
and still, I think, you’ll want to come home
and my skin will still remember your hands and
my heart will know your rhythm and maybe that
will be enough, maybe that will make this home.

The End

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