Your dressing gown still hangs on the back of the bathroom door

 

I walk through rooms that still breathe your name,
quietly, gently, as though nothing has changed.

Your dressing gown
still hangs on the back of the bathroom door,
soft with the memory of your shoulders.
Your glass sits empty on the kitchen windowsill,
as if you’ve only just stepped away.

Your plants—
I water them with care,
with longing,
as though they, too, are waiting for your hands.

Your camera and your drone stand still,
resting in silence,
and your guitar hangs on the wall,
patient—
waiting for fingers that will not return.

Your shoes lie unworn in the cupboard,
Your tuxedo hangs faithfully in the wardrobe,
and in the drawers, your favourite shirts
are folded, pressed—
ready, just in case
we have somehow got this all wrong.

Your car waits on the driveway,
facing the road,
as though it knows
we were meant to go somewhere together.

And your side of the bed…
still empty.
The pillow lies untouched,
no echo of your head,
no warmth left behind.

Your train, packed away,
rests quietly in the corner—
waiting for one last journey,
one last careful hand to bring it to life.

Your computer sits idle.
Your phone no longer sings.
And yet—
all these things,
these quiet witnesses,
feel more real than the world beyond these walls.

So I will not move them.
I will not hide them away.
I will not let the dust take you from me.

I will keep them as they are—
so it feels like you are still here,
as it was meant to be:

going out together,
travelling the world together,
growing old,
becoming dust together.

Until we meet again, my love…
your dressing gown will still hang
on the back of the bathroom door.

Love and Light Peeps
dbee xx