When I used to think of a future,

I would think of rotting teeth,

of my mother’s mannerisms,

how my father is unreachable even a chair apart.

When I used to think of a future,

I would think about the Winter you moved into the spare room,

I would hear you unlock the door

long after the Autumn you left.

When I think of the future,

I see all the shadows I outgrew,

all the places that were too small for me to fit.

I still find strands of your hair in the cushions

I still have the star you bought me above my bed.

When I think of a future,

all I hear is you telling me how proud you are

that I made it

and me telling you

that without you

I wouldn’t have.