Homeless

I had a dream last night:

The world was ending; you weren't there.

I tried to find you as the sky began to crumble,

running from room to room,

house to house,

searching for your face amidst the smoky haze

and the rubble.

I knew you were nearby

but you were out of sight, out of reach.

"How will we survive?" I thought,

"If we don't have each other?"

It was only a dream, though.

Just a dream.

And you're still not here.

But my question remains:

"How will we survive?"

How will I?

You've been gone for a while now,

drifting on the wind, carried away to...

Well, who knows?

That's how these things go, after all.

Memories are all that's left

of the walls we’d built around us.

Sturdy, safe, with a roof to give us shelter

from life's storms and gales;

from the hurricanes that would

batter down the door,

if we would only let them in.

Could we have laid a sturdier foundation?

Fortified the walls

to stop them caving in?

Could I have held up the ceiling

with my own two arms,

if they weren’t so busy wrapped around you?

I wonder if you ever think of me,

of that sanctuary we made

in each other's embrace.

The only place I ever felt

secure.

Safe.

Certain.

With you I was whole,

I was home.