There's a crack in the ceiling

And posters on the walls

I can track where he's trod in the carpet

Like a hunter can track a doe

I know his room better than my own

Am more comfortable folded into his too-small-chair

Than I am in my normal sized one at home

I feel safer sprawled alone in his queen-fits-two-people-bed

But lost in my own twin

-His pillows always were softer—

His room is an extension of him

[His room makes me feel safe]

.

.

.

I need to stop with this sappy stuff. Thoughts?