I finished unpacking last night. My house is a home, but the one thing missing is you. I hear your laugh, see your smile, admire your new haircut in the faces of strangers. I can’t stop for a gallon of milk without recognizing your loping walk in another. The weight of my loss holds me in place, and I silently protest the need to make dinner, open the mail, prepare for bed.
The phone rings, and my heart leaps. It isn’t you, and I let the call go. I don’t have the strength for a conversation. I can’t explain one more time why. I might have to scream I don’t know.
You were woven so tightly throughout my life, and the threads of you reach farther than I imagined. I’m trying to patch the holes, but the pain stops me short.
I know you’re not coming back. I know it’s better for you now. I want the good times back and all the love those moments carried.
I’m missing you.
Image Credit: © Bigstock