Why Did You?

Although I am not one to succumb to hopeless prayer,
My breath still catches at the thought of your footfall on the stairs.
You’d tower over me as I lay, unknowing, asleep,
Trace fingers up my exposed arm, coming to rest upon my cheek.
At your touch I would stir, and when my eyes fell upon you,
I’d think myself still slumber deep, not believe it was you.
But now, there are only ghosts in what was once our bedroom.
Our pillows gather cobwebs, as though they pad chambered tomb.
You succumbed to the de...