In My Imaginations

In my imagination, beneath a rain that doesn’t fall

I walk with you home, down a street that doesn’t exist

You sit across from me, resting your weary soul

I pour you tea, into a cup that doesn’t exist

You smile again and ask, “Are you feeling better now?”

I smile again, “So much...” though you know it isn’t true

I read you poems, and words begin to bloom

I place jasmine and lilies in a vase that doesn’t exist

I gaze into your eyes—could it be, just maybe

You’d hold my hands in yours, those hands that don’t exist?

It’s time to leave, I whisper with a lump in my throat, “Don’t go”

I shed tears behind you, on a porch that doesn’t exist

You leave, and the house overflows with your absence

Once again I’m alone, with memories of a guest who never was

You’re gone, and since then, this has become my daily ritual

Believing you’re not here—an ease that doesn’t exist