The door stays open, awaiting your silhouette;
The chair rocks gently in the breeze, empty, waiting for you;
The dent in the bed where you lay has still not filled up;
Your coffee cup stands in its place, untouched, unturned;
The newspaper stays-unfolded;
And since you've gone away, the spaces between my fingers
- that God made for u to fill with yours - stay empty, lonely;
Sighing, I stare at those spaces and then look at the open door...
When will you come?
The chair rocks gently in the breeze, empty, waiting for you;
The dent in the bed where you lay has still not filled up;
Your coffee cup stands in its place, untouched, unturned;
The newspaper stays-unfolded;
And since you've gone away, the spaces between my fingers
- that God made for u to fill with yours - stay empty, lonely;
Sighing, I stare at those spaces and then look at the open door...
When will you come?
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