34. Unworn

You’re gone.
You’re not coming back.
Your shoes lie empty on the doorstep,
Unworn from now on.

The rain fell that night.
I didn’t sleep because I waited up for you.
Nobody told me you had left.

I sat at the table the next morning,
Stirring my coffee till it got cold.
The ground was still wet.
I waited some more.
I waited till I could wait no longer.

My feet pressed into the soft mud, leaving footprints that I hoped you’d fill.

I walked till I could walk no further.
Betrayal is but another word for the absence of life.

©Brindology & Joanne Garnell 2016

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