every Sunday I walk down these streets

these streets marked by your absence

these streets empty but filled

full to overflowing with you everywhere

I see you where you’ve never been

on the corner waiting besides that one broken sign

in a tea house standing patiently beneath a neon cup

at a bus stop sitting disdainfully on a dirty bench

you had left where we lived before

to make room for something but I never knew what

now that I’m here in a city we never dreamed of

I find you back and back and back

tears burn just as much in this place