that's what I hear in these sounds

It's his footsteps that reach me.

The sounds of stairs, begrudgingly giving way underneath. With a creak, announcing him.

And even though he's walking away, there's still the sound of him, and I love those loud stairs for that.

But then the big door swings open and closes with a hollow thud and that's that. The ensuing silence proving the point that he's actually gone. Until he starts up that motor, and his old jeep backs up, working too hard to just get out of the neighborhood.

And although that quiet is quite clearly broken, it brings no comfort.

Only isolation.

Like a woman noisily giving you the silent treatment.

She's banging on various kitchen sundries, making a point to carry overly loud saccharin conversations with everybody else when she's not humming that tune made famous in high school, and you finally put down your book. You wonder what it was you ever did to make her ignore you so hard.

And that's how it sounds when he leaves; I like the sound of him coming home much better and at least there's a cat at my feet and one at my side.

*inspired in part by when he left early this morning...and a song called The Chain, by Ingrid Michaelson:

So glide away and so be healed and promise not to promise anymore

and if you come around again then i will take, then i will take the chain from off the door