I’m sitting on a chair, on the porch of your heart, like a guest.

Your heart was my house and my home. I used to belong. Now I don’t have the keys to let myself in.

With a sinking heart, I ring the bell, you say you’ll be out in a minute.

The front door opens, but I can not see inside and then you close it behind you.

I am homeless.

The conversation is brief, about my homesickness and how I’m so lonely.
Not a word from your end, no news about the state of your heart.

I wonder if someone else has stepped inside since I walked out. I wonder if they stayed the night.

Too soon, it is time to go. You give me a smile as you walk back to the front door. My feet lingers on the stairs as my heart longs for a glimpse of your place, but you keep standing with your hand on the doorknob.

I am meant to go.
Go where? I don’t know.

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