reminds me that I am alone,
another grey Saturday afternoon
without you.
The cat rubs against my leg,
and I push her away with my foot,
forcing aside someone else
who loves me.
Raindrops run down the panes
like tears
and gather in a puddle
on the balcony.
No amount of water could fill
the space made by your leaving.
One day I'll find the courage
to call and say I'm sorry,
but it won't be today.
In the east, the sky is clearing,
and the rain will be gone by morning.
© Elle Lassiter, 2004
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