Leaving

I think that, maybe, if I left
you'd come home from a tired day...
you'd walk up the staircase and look
into the dimly lit livingroom and
you'd feel like something was supposed
to be there...someone...but you
can barely remember the shadow
of what I was.

You stare blankly into the kitchen
with a dish in the sink
and crumbs on the counter
and you'd have this feeling...
a fleeting thought that maybe
you were once with someone
who leaves crumbs on the counter
and the crumbs were like sprinkles
on the surface of your fantasy life
with this woman
who shared your bed.

And you could almost taste her
as if you two had awoken this morning,
together.
But there is no one there now
And you know you will
never again be able to recall
that fantasy and what made
her perfect.

You just know that she was.
and though you are almost sure
you never met her,
You can't shake the feeling that is eery and slight
that you awoke many times to
her arm across your chest.