Mental Maps

I read mental maps of the house we never built.
Waltzing to the tune that was never heard;
Up on my feet, through the night, that never was;
I relish meals you never cooked for me.
I end conversations we never had,
answering all the questions you were too cowardly to ask.

I draw pictures with words,
Of vast landscapes with trees bearing fruits, we will never eat.
I walk on roads we thought we would plant saplings along;
Leading up to the steps of your neighborhood library;
I stand at the window, quoting poems you'll never read.

Existing through the years of this life without you;
I have treasured the minutes you were there.