Borrowed Life

Sensing rigor mortise,
I stood up.
Moved my limbs out
of their lethargic state
and neatly packed my
suitcase to leave.
A box of books and
a stack of paintings
reminded me of my days
and the reasons thereof.
I waited.
You waited.
The suitcase, the books
the doormats, the room,
the walls around it and
and the wall clocks on them,
                 - we all waited.
Neither you uttered
anything, nor could I.
Time passed us.
Seasons changed.
Stillness surrounded me
as I embraced the
world inside my own self,
outside of which, was
no other possession that
I could say was mine,
except those few books
some paintings
and a few breaths that I
borrowed from you.