Receding

I mourned because
I did not get to say
one last good-bye,
my heart aching and afraid,
my unquiet mind disbelieving
that you loved me unconditionally
that you would return.

The table had been cleared,
all the guests departed,
coats donned
scarves wrapped against the rain-swept night.
Pretending to be fine,
even to be very busy, I bustled
from empty room to empty room,
straightening crumpled linens here,
re-ordering misplaced photos there,
tossing refuse,
hiding my secret longing
for the we-are-one-ness of your eyes
sparkling into mine.

Without their light
I felt myself grow smaller,
my heart flutter in fits and starts
as a choked cough denied how,
what seemed like only moments before,
my rhythmic breath had carried yours.

Later, turning off the lights,
closing sliding windows,
pulling down accordion shades,
I forgot the imprint
of your hand in mine,
the we-are-forever-ness of our jousting play,
felt the familiar wall begin to build,
ancient stone by ancient stone,
forming protective battalions around my tender heart
until I became the one receding,
until I became the one to disappear.