The door to my bedroom is always ajar.
and when morning comes, she comes in with tenderness.
I woke up,
surrounded by the sound of air, and a wall with endless blank.
Usually, the first few steps on the concrete are cold.
It gets better though, when I'm in the bathroom.
Breakfast are ready, I made them myself.
Scanning through pages of inked paper.
I yawned, "You want Breakfast, Honey?"
....
With no reply,
I realized that, this imaginary person I am speaking to (or I thought I was ),
no longer lingers in this very house.
What lingered and what remained,
was I.
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The first drop of dew in the garden, mark the beginning of a new day.
and this vacant heart, still lives.
waiting, on some some sort of return.
