Tearing a Canvas Chair

I believe I was here before
Many months prior
And I think that I forced a tear
Tearing a canvas chair.

Boxing your items, dear
Was not hard to do
I had only to surround your frames
with bubble-wrap
And return your knick-knacks
to their original packaging.
-
Hearing you talk backwards in my sleep;
Seeing you sit on my furniture,
Each step a series of falls
landing in its place
Each movement, the largest fracture
I've ever felt. Now, your face
features regularly on my
eyelids. Odd, that after two
weeks of not thinking of you at all,
You should start to haunt me as if we never spoke.

Seeing you sit on that Underground train,
what if?
I hadn't smiled first, and laughed
when you got flustered and looked down,
grinning.
That if I hadn't turned as I passed, on the escalator,
and said to your face, "Hello."
Spinning my body round as we met at the top,
flexing my eccentricities.
I wouldn't be here right now, sobbing in this shredded seat.