I am waiting to stop waiting

we spend years filling up who we are when we are alone.
carefully choosing paint to match the couch cushions.
carpet that affirms the reasons we got a dog.
but today the paint is peeling off the wall.
the dust is thick on the floor
(and I promise you I'll keep a cleaner house,
if only I know you will be coming home.)
we sleep in separate rooms.
every night you pick up the pieces of plate in the dining room,
and I doze, more alone with myself than ever before.
but I cannot blame us for anything any more,
not even for the oil spill spreading
in the sea of this relationship.