This Empty House

When you left this morning the emptiness inside of me radiated, it pulsed and moved like electricity, like radiation, through this empty house, infecting every room. It was as if everything of meaning, every memory, every word shared between us, had been swept through the door with you. My footsteps on the kitchen floor echoed, the walls shivered with my breath, the speakers in the living room buzzed with your voice, hardly discernible in the silence. I know that you havent gone for good. I know that this house,

this empty, echoing house, will breathe life once more the minute you step through that door. But for now Ill listen to the soft humming, the helpless spluttering inside my body, this empty shell, as it struggles to fill the void, patiently waiting for you to close the door behind you, and take me in your arms so that I can be whole once more.