This month's calendar falls in pieces to the floor.
Such was the beginning and ending of our relationship.
One page a day,
Enough to plaster a wall with
Scribbled-out appointments,
Birthdays of siblings,
Meeting dates with the family,
And long-forgotten deadlines.
Our lives were defined in ballpoint pen
Along the margins of this calendar,
And love sat inside the boxes of days.
Your name enclosed by hearts
Decorates the border,
An endless pattern,
A friendly welcome to new love.
Photos pepper the walls of my room
And sketches lie at my headboard.
On this very bed,
We dreamed of our futures:
A daughter and grandchildren,
Dance recitals and softball games and carnivals.
Life isn't as clear now that we've reached an end.
I can lock eyes with a photograph
But your gaze is nowhere to be found,
I can cover my ears with my pillow,
But I'll still hear your voice.
Your shoes are still by the door
And your vest is still on my bed.
Your scent still lingers on my skin,
But this is the end,
This is the last day
You'll tell me you love me.