Running Through My Head and Out the Door

She Ran

She walked into my life,
a shining hope in a dreary world,
someone whom I could count on,
who was there,
who understood me
unlike anyone else could claim to.
And now she runs out,
tears running down her face,
unable to look me in the eye.
I chase after her,
pleading that she need not go,
praying to God that this is
some sort of nightmare,
that this wound opening
in my heart
is simply a bullet wound
rather than something as fatal as this.
Yet, amid my cries for salvation,
I have tripped,
falling flat on my face.
I try pushing myself to my feet,
but the pain ties me down,
refusing to let go of my aching soul.
Hoping for the impossible,
I pass out, wondering what sort of world
I will awake to.
And, when I get up the following morn,
I find that the pain no longer binds me,
but has begun its consumption,
fitting snugly on me,
a jacket of despair.
As I stand,
I see that the door is open,
just as you left it when you tore yourself
from my life,
leaving a deep hole in this house.
I go to close the door,
but can't bring myself to,
the air smelling of your lingering sent,
oh so sweet and hopeful.
I hope you find the map
to return to this place one day,
but I can't leave the door open forever,
as others may want to enter one day.
For now, I'll swim in the silhouette you left behind,
a pool of emptiness filling slowly with my tears.