I don't like that there's no mail on Sunday's.

Every day you go to your mailbox

Finding magazines and letters and everything in between.

But on Sunday's, you forget that it's Sunday.


You go to your mailbox

Expecting to find a bill or a birthday card

But you find nothing

Kind of like you.


I came home to you every day

Finding new things to discuss and laugh about and everything in between

And then one day I came home to find nothing

I was empty, like the mailbox.


Now every day is like Sunday's for me

I forget that you're gone and still expect to find you waiting for me

I receive nothing from you

Not even a bill or a birthday card.


Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741