Sometimes I like to sit and listen
To the last voice-mail he ever sent me.
But every time I hear his voice
I feel like my heart is being ripped out.
Like a whirlwind of memories,
My world starts spinning until I am lost.
Hearing his voice is like peering
Behind a curtain that cannot be moved.
It stands between me and the things
That have long been taken away from me.
And sometimes I like to pretend
That he will come back to me someday, soon.
It’ll be like he never left–
He was just playing a game of hide-and-seek.
I hadn’t looked quite hard enough–
But he’s there, hiding behind that curtain.
Then Mom’s voice finds me through the house,
And all at once I feel like I’ll be sick.
Her voice brings me crashing right back
To the cold gut-feeling I know is loss.
Because the truth, the damned old truth,
Is that he’s never coming back to me.