The Walk Upstairs

Finished off the casseroles a while ago; actually gave them to someone with an appetite. The neighbors have taken your parking space. The hallway’s unlit now, but I still see the unhappiness in the mirror even in the dark. You always left the light on. I cling to the railing; it’s caught me more than once. Each step leaves me breathless, each ascent lifeless – stranded and abandoned without even a shadow. It’s just as you left it inside. I haven’t dirtied a dish. The calendar still says June; only the clock moves on – ticking countdown. Sometimes it’s too much so I sleep outside the door and guard what you left behind – protect what was. Slumber reunites us, but daylight exposes me. And the pity’s infected their whispers.