2-22 Letter To The Man Upstairs

maybe,
I'll start with the end,
I don't know if you will read this,
maybe,
I should start with
the beginning, except,
I've already been there,
and what's the point,
this is the house of September,
this is how he breathes,

when he walks up the stairs,
we don't look back,

but if you have to ask,
there is a truth in the rumor,
I kinda miss you too,
there is a quiet here,
settling into the walls, while he sleeps,
a quiet I don't want to get used too,
it's uncomfortable,
in his quiet, but before I forget,
the potato says hello,
she reminds me everyday,

to watch from my window,
the sun going down, the sun going down,
the sun going down,  then she hides under
the bed, while the piano plays,
she hides under the bed, except to crawl
in with me, where she curls into my stomach,
keeps my warm, she is love, sweet, unpredictable
love, and she reminds me, everyday,

to watch the sun going down,
from my window, in the house
of September, where I walk up,
the stairs,
and don't look back.

so that's how it ends,
does it need more?
every letter needs filler,

I put the dishes away, took out the recycling,
brought the vacuum out for later, the potato is
going through a shed cycle, so, you know
how it is, parenting, but I washed her blankets,
bought a new toy, which lasted, oh, about two minutes,
but it was nice to see her bouncing around,
though in the wild, they would call that
playing with her food, it disturbs me as
much as watching chickens eat, vicious
little dinosaurs, where is this going?

is this enough filler?
should I write a beginning now?

I don't think so,
the house of September,
is quiet without you,
but that is an ending,
not a beginning, and I

have already walked up
the stairs, to watch the sun
go down,
from my window,
and not look back,

this is how he breathes.
love,

T.