Degradation - I

You were always fidgeting,
Countless coffee rings on that table,
You kept moving the mug back and forth.
It was those little things which kept me able,
To trust in myself, stop looking down and
Start looking north.

Your star which led me, bright through the night,
Your tendency to turn on the lights, though the sun
Had not quite set yet. Your dependency to
Let me be, as I walked around the stale warmth
Of that small room. Yet it felt so open, second to none
Though it was tucked away in a little corner of our lives,
Not appreciated until our lack of adjacency.

My frog-green leather chair,
Your were carrying the books, you
Made the tear. From then on I was hooked,
And when you weren't there I would sometimes
Sit, by the stained table and pretend to be stable,
Stroking the wound and watching myself cry,
In that almost insignificant place.

The musty smell of the flailing wallpaper,
Now a feature but now like the others,
My breath, when the heatings off, like always,
Turned into vapor and my words sailing
On expired air.

Behind it, you could almost see where
The wall was breaking.
The end of our golden coast,
The end of our champagne toast,
The end of our Sunday roast,
What meant the most,
Now it's faking.
We were so close,
but now we're flaking.