I will look for you under my bed, between forgotten single socks and fluff, and will spend too long evaluating if I'm looking at a spider or a hair band. And nobody will be there so I'll turn to my cupboards, and poke through a packet of pasta. I will not find any friends within the fusilli, but I'll have run out of other places to look.
And I will wonder if every day of my life going to be like this, looking for something I am never going to find. Like the reason I don't know you anymore, or the set of keys I'd promised I wouldn't lose again and I'll realise I've forgotten what I was looking for anyway.
I'll abandon the search while the kettle boils, unable to remember the last time I had to buy new teabags. And I'll knock over my mug but that will be fine, because I'll still have three more and that's a good position to be in when you never have guests.
No comments:
Post a Comment