Empty

In hindsight, it didn’t really matter
What time I got up this morning.

The coffee maker had started
As usual,
At 445am.

I had taken a shower,
Gotten dressed,
And completed all the things
I normally do,
Each morning
Before I leave for work.

But,
I had not yet made the bed…

And that’s when the pain
Began,
Again,
This morning…
As it had for the past 63 days.

Your side of the bed remained
Undisturbed.

The decorative pillows still rested
There.

There was no wrinkle in the bedspread,
Nothing had been displaced.

All that needed to be tidied on
That bed…
Was my side.

And with that visual…
The pleasant dreams of my sleep,
The fantasy not of my real world
Came crashing down on me…
Again.

Though that bedroom was
Completely quiet,
My ears rang with
The cacophony
Of loneliness.

My gut rose in my throat
As it had for the past
Two months and two days.

My heart was forced to
Acknowledge,
Again…

You were gone.

And as tears came to my eyes,
I made my way downstairs,
Thinking that it was alright.

That somehow…

Someway…

I could make it through this day,

Shuttered by the anguish.

Facing yet again,
The grief,
And loneliness
Of that bed without you.

Empty.

 

 

© 2017 W. C. Stacia, Jr.

 

 

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