everything is how i left it
the book sits quietly, patiently waiting for a turn of page.
the crumbles of an enjoyed lunch
my pens enthusiastically used stand in expectation
but this chest screams out a curdled outcry
why are you the same?
why did you not change?
where is your black cloak of moaning?
do they not notice the stacked pile of void sitting on my desk?
do they not notice as you flutter like a hundred butterflies,
taunting, yet graciously dancing amongst the to do lists, calculator and things?
subdued notes, glazed and muffled discussions,
in this place of left behind
everything is here
and everything is missing