Too Late

I open the door. It creaks. The wood smells of history and I can see dust strolling in the strands of sunlight that is coming through thick glass windows. It's warm. The small isolated house is empty. Except one room. Upstairs. It's filled with sunlight and the view from the window reveals the endless fields and trees. On the floor of the room is one lone mattress. A big one- frosted with old pillows and blankets. It's here that I decide to lay down. In my white sun dress I sprawl out, trying to cover any empty spot.
I fail.
I've been here many times before. To the place where we began but never finished. No matter how many times I go back it's still the same:
I'm too late.
But I keep going because when I'm here I cannot locate time- not a single decade, year, month, day, hour- not even a minute. Which is where I lost you.

I keep hoping you'll be here.
Lost.
With me.
But no.
I'm too late.

As always, the sun begins to set. The crickets begin to call. I leave that room and find myself sitting on the haunted planks of the deserted porch.

Staring down the stars.
Jealous of the moon.

A silent breeze caresses me. For a second I swear I can feel you.
But no.
It's empty.
Because I know where you are. You're thousands of miles away from this place. In a home.

Complete.
With furniture.
With her.

And me?
I'm here
               except.
I'm too late.