empty things

my rooms are best shared
cluttered with someone else's things and someone else's shallow breathing to soften the sharpness of dark nights
the rattle of the air conditioner in the window across the room may be just enough to stave off lonely lonely silence
maybe I'll sleep somewhere else when you're gone from this room we share. Or set my cell-phone on the pillow beside me and in my half-sleep, imagine it a rope in my hand that travels miles and miles to its resting place in yours..
beside you on your pillow where you are breathing shallow, sleep-calmed breaths..
in a room cluttered with your things.

this room will feel empty. this town will feel empty. the laundry basket we used to share and the closet we crammed our thrift-store finds in: those will feel empty too.

empty things scare me so

but i wouldn't dare fill the spaces that still feel like yours