not coming home

When the garage door goes down, and the lights are turned off, that's how I know you're not coming home.

When she walks upstairs early, and turns off the TV, that's how I know you're not coming home.

When the empty place setting is put back in the drawer, that's how I know you're not coming home.

When the phone rings late at night, and she answers with a sigh, that's how I know you're not coming home.

When you call and tell me something over the phone that you meant to tell me face-to-face, that's how I know you're not coming home.

When you say things got busy at the office, that's how I know you're not coming home.

When she says you didn't leave yet, that's how I know you're not coming home.

When you ask what time I'm getting home, that's how I know you're not coming home.

When she turns on HBO and starts watching chick flicks, that's how I know you're not coming home.

When she cries softly to herself, but loud enough for me to hear, that's how I know you're not coming home.