somewhere I cannot go.

She is going somewhere 
I can hear it 
in the way the house pauses 
when she gently glides through it, 
as if even the torn walls 
are trying to find her. 

She has never been one to leave, 
but to remain 
a constant presence, 
like the light left on 
in another room, 
or the steady hum of a radiator 
you only notice 
once it’s gone. 

So where could she possibly go? 
Somewhere distant,
or somewhere small
a place with a name
that doesn’t belong to me,
a place that does not need me
But desperately needs her. 

I do not want her to go.
I want the ordinary things,
the familiar sounds,
the unspoken assurances,
the quiet way everything
falls into place around her.

But she must go.

She must go for me,
so I can learn
how to stand in the silence
she leaves behind.
And she must go for herself
because she was never meant
to be only
what this house required of her.