Things We Never Said

I left the window open, just to hear the rain, falling on the rooftops and disappearing again. Your book is on the table, your coat is on the chair, funny how an empty room can still believe you’re there. And all the things we never said are somewhere in between, the life we thought we’d live and the life we’ve really seen. Morning finds the curtains, light moves on the floor, I don’t ask the old questions the way I did before. Some people leave you slowly, some never really do, they become a little silence that keeps walking next to you. And all the things we never said don’t need a voice tonight, somewhere past the darkness they’re turning into light. Maybe that’s what time is: not losing what has gone, but learning how to carry it and still keep moving on. So I’ll leave the window open when the evening comes again, and listen to the rooftops remembering the rain.