May 12, 2012

Short Story: When I Miss You

Everyone left this morning. The house was standing still. I made my breakfast, and checked the door. There was no one to let out.

I took a break from writing, and went to say hello. Your rug was empty, so I put on some music, and turned back to the screen.

I popped in between my errands. I was hardly in the house. I started to tell you I'd be right back, then said it anyway.

At nap time, I walked downstairs. My heart gave a little thump. I'd left lunch on the table, but the food was still right there.

We shuffled through the door, arms full of bags and coats. I warned the boys, slow down, take care. But you weren't in the way.

After dinner I cleared the table. The scraps piled up uneaten. The plates, unlicked, filled up the washer, and I threw the scraps away.

At bed time, I turned the lights out. I checked the doors were locked. The room was empty, but I said goodnight, and left the room alone.

2 comments:

  1. To say "nice," to the emotions and experience behind this is like complementing someone on the scar that adds character to their face. Still, you express those moments far better than I could. Good stuff, M.

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  2. Thank you, Late. I'm not usually much of a "sharer." But I had to put this out into the world. A modern-day eulogy.

    ReplyDelete

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