Mountain Home

I see you when I close my eyes.
I smell you without meaning to.
and I feel you at home, waiting still.

You’re hungry and angry because I was late,
your disapproving stare sharper than words.
But you didn´t eat because I wasn´t there.

You waited, like every night,
because together meant something then.
A simple thing—yet it was everything.

We were supposed to keep eating together.
We were supposed to keep waiting.
We were supposed to finish what we started.

Now I come home to an empty room,
with no one waiting… No laughter,
and no one upset with me for being late.

Not even a voice on the phone.
Not even a text goodnight.
That voice that felt close, even so far away.

Why did you go love someone else?
How can you be so happy now that I´m gone?
Will I ever feel okay again?

I choose my thoughts carefully
in this mountain home of mine…
But everything whispers you.

Sometimes I pretend you’re still waiting.
I drive past what was once our house
and picture you in a hoodie, frowning.
And somehow, it still makes me smile.