I Still Set a Place for You

I Still Set a Place for You

I still set a place for you dinner, out of habit or haunting—can’t tell
Fork on the left, glass on the right, napkin folded like a goodbye note
The chair never moves, but it feels like you still sit there sometimes
I wash your mug every morning,
like maybe you’ll walk in half-dressed and yawning
The house forgot your footsteps, but the floor still creaks in your rhythm
I’d burn it all down just to hear you slam one more door
I still set a place for you, even when I swear I’m fine
Even when the food turns cold, and I’m talking to no one like it’s divine
I guess grief’s a dinner guest that won’t leave and always wants seconds
I fold your laundry, though it’s been boxed for months
Sometimes I open it just to breathe the ghost of your shampoo
I close my eyes and pretend your sweer hugs back
The neighbors think I’m doing okay, and I let ‘em
It’s easier than explaining how you died and still somehow won’t leave
Or how I sleep on the couch just to avoid your side of the bed
When I die, don’t clear the table—just slide me into that second chair
Let the house finally have its ghosts, and let them talk without shame
I still set a place for you, since letting go feels like betrayal
018 is next—sleaze style, anything goes. Want it wild, funny,
depraved, or all three? Say continue and I’ll crank it up.