when he isn't around

Do the skies

still align

when he isn’t around?

Do the clouds start to hang

and scratch at your head?

Do the streets come to a standstill,

the cement subtly softening,

the tarmac turning delicate?

The whirring city

becoming silent

when his name comes up

mid conversation?

Does his handwriting still strike

you in the chest, just as it used to,

when long drives beneath summer’s skies

felt as though they stretched out

infinitely, when one night felt

like the longest lifetime

and a mile seemed to elongate

out, out

into the distance?

Summers aren’t as long as they used to be

with the shadow of his absence,

his silence,

drooped over the setting sun,

your light stolen too early,

your warm face turned red at that party that night

remembering the mornings when you woke up by his side.

The sand on the beach burns the soles of your feet

but you cannot notice, your mind

happily distracted in a maze of vivid memories.

There’s a fault within the structure.

When you arrive home tonight,

after the sun has faded once more,

try to mask your expectations, realise

that he will not be there.

The gentle humming of the car won’t draw him to the locked door,

he will not open it with baited breath at your arrival.

But someday,

with luck,

that shall be the case

again

and the levees will break,

the orbit will continue

and the mile long string

between these two figures

will turn taut once more

and dance.