Who will turn the lights off?

It's obvious, you're not coming home.

So why do I leave the light on?

It's obvious I'm lingering here waiting for nothing. Maybe it's time I move. There could be a new home to build. A new bed to warm my feet in. New sheets to play tickles under. New raucous laughters.

So why do I feel that even if I do leave, I'll leave the door ajar?

It scares me to think that you might come back, and only then. And I might not be there. Just a light that was left on.

The thought of it saddens me.

I wonder, will I feel as sad, when I'm no longer there?

Who will close the door that was ajar? Will it ever be closed? or will it become a cobwebbed museum to something that died... waiting for a stranger that will never come home...