Coming Home

I don't just write poetry! But I find it nearly impossible to finish a story. This one is incomplete, but it gives you an idea of my prose style.

Waiting. For two years now, I had been waiting. In the back of my mind, I knew he would never return, yet still I waited. I would return every day, sit outside the door…and wait.
 
To my surprise, the apartment had been left vacant for those two years, though I was sure it was only a matter of time until someone new moved in -someone to replace him. I swore to myself that I would never accept that; already, I hated the new tenant, though they were nothing but a vague thought in my mind. Whoever it would be, I was sure I would hate them. How could I not?

He was my best friend; we were like brothers -I could never tolerate someone else living in his home, erasing his memory, as though he had never lived there at all. This apartment was all I had left of him now, the only thing aside from my memories that proved he ever existed. I couldn't bear the thought of someone else living there, of someone telling me to abandon my place outside the door; I couldn't stand the thought of not waiting, because then there would be no hope at all.
 
I knew that he wouldn't come back, but I waited anyway, with the foolish hope that somehow it was just a nightmare, that somehow he would return, completely unchanged, as though no time had passed at all. Everything would go back to normal then, and I could put an end to my waiting, and finally start to live again.
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It was a Tuesday, and as I approached the apartment, I was surprised to see a light shining from under the door. The landlord hadn't shown the apartment to anyone in the past two years -perhaps scared off by my presence- but I guessed that he had finally decided to rent the place out.
 
Naturally dismayed, I did something that I'd never once tried in all of my time spent outside the apartment; without so much as a second thought, I reached for the doorknob, and then -as I stood frozen, in his home, surrounded by his things- I caught the words that made my heart sink: "I'm glad you like the apartment; we'll have it cleared out by the time you move in next week".

 "No!" I heard someone exclaim, before it hit me that I had been the one who said it. My voice was barely more than a rasp -had I spoken to anyone since the last time I saw him? It was hardly a question worth asking, the answer blatantly obvious: aside from him, there had never been anyone worth my time.
 
Having quickly gotten over his shock, the landlord didn't hesitate to speak his mind, "Enough is enough, kid. Your friend is gone, and he ain't coming back, and I can't just let this apartment sit here vacant forever. You're lucky I was nice enough to keep this junk here for so long, but now it's gotta go; if you wanna take it, that's fine by me, but it better be outta here by Monday".

Author's Note

I started writing this about two years ago, and I haven't touched it since, so it might be a mess. And it cuts off abruptly. But I'll finish it one day.