You seem to be missing, at least that's what you think they think. You're right here, though, waiting for them to return. You wonder why they've left their boots. Won't they need them where they are? Why so haphazard? What was the hurry? Won't they ever be coming back?
Patience, you sit there fingering your beads, as each new season heaves a fresh assault of something. The dark comforts you. Light makes you drowsy. It's so close, the outside. Still you cling to what you know. They could be coming back. You think you'll wait a little longer.