Nothing feels the same

The house still remembers you. It creaks in the same places you used to step, the walls the doors man even the henges still creaked where you slept. The kitchen doesn’t smell the same as it used to, and no one laughs anymore, not like you do.

Your mug is still in the cabinet second shelf, slightly chipped on the rim. I haven’t moved it. I don’t know if I can

Sometimes I catch myself turning to say something to you. A joke, a complaint, a complement, a debate, saying them again makes me want to faint. They felt endless back then. Now they feel like something I dropped and can’t find again.

I thought missing you would be loud. I thought it would be crying and breaking down. Not able to stand and sitting back down my heads spinning the world still turns and the pains never ending. But isnt it quieter than that. It’s folding laundry and realizing there’s less of it. It’s cooking dinner and only setting the table for one person. It’s my head trying to put everything into my own version. It’s waking up to silence and pain in my chest that makes me feel like the whole time I was the burden, and then remembering all over again.

The worst part is how the world keeps going.

Cars pass by. People laugh outside. The sky changes like nothing happened. And I want to stop them, just for a moment, and say don’t you see. Something is missing. But the only thing missing is you. And somehow, that’s everything.