What You Leave the Porch Light For

You long to return to a love you’ve never had.    
A love that sits and wraps its arms around you—  
Like a weighted blanket in the middle of the night.  
   
The kind that seeps into a Sunday,    
When the sun hits your shared coffee mugs just right.    
The grocery run where his hand grazes yours,  
And your heart skips like it’s never been touched that gently before.    
   
The kind that leaves echoes.    
   
So here you are, chasing echoes—    
Echoes that your soul remembers but you do not.    
You can only imagine.    
   
You imagine them at the sink,  
Brushing their teeth, half-laughing as they talk
Their voice, soft, tired, but loving—  
And you smile too, even though no one’s there.  
   
And still,    
You leave the porch light on.    
Just in case.