I have reoccurring dreams
about being inside your house
but you’re almost never home.
Where did you go?
And who put a secret staircase
in the room across from yours,
where I used to sleep when I was nine
and stayed in your house?
I can’t enter the room
I look in and it seems to stretch on past my lifetime.
Everything else looks the same.
Last night you were both in the kitchen
everyone running around
like they used to.
I stood in the kitchen and cried
though I tried not to,
because I used to.
Your backs were turned to me,
so I know it wasn’t really you,
or maybe I visited your dreams
and in those dreams everything is how it was
so you don’t want to see me missing you.
I’m bad at facades.
I took a second to swallow it down
and the party ended;
I went down in the basement to tell
my brothers to get their coats,
we’re going home.
And that’s when I woke up
and I was still crying.