Empty Parking Lot

She remembers, catching up with the sun as rising
looking from side to side, falling into awareness
That was his bed, again...

White sheets, with some wine stains
Empty bottles around the bed
Low music that he had forgotten to turn off
Always the same style, always the same songs
It began feeling too familiar, too soon...

The perfect style to leave the bed, hearing his breath.. avoiding movements
the cold floor and the rush running through her body
...remembering the touch, the kisses, the sensasion and the relief
he would provide so much peace...

Going to the kitchen in his white big t-shirt
one glass of water, maybe two and walking to that window
that lovely window, where while watching the empty parking lots
she would smile to the idea of greatness
...greatness in the letting go and the clear head.

She remembers his room
The moles on his back and the counting before he would wake up
She remembers the singing during the night
but also the silence during the break of dawn

...Moments that she would appreciate, just for the release of everything she'd hold all the time.

In the photo: Rosana Goerke