I will be late

The sky
is gray,
and the grass is brown and dry.
What a perfect day to cleanse
the mess
in my overcrowded heart.
Breathe in,
cold air
filling every last small corner
of the void that’s left in there,
echoing the long-forgotten
heartbeat of my own,
and not
of any other pulse.
Don’t wait.
I will be late.
I’ll take a long way home,
and I need to walk alone.