there is a weight where you once laid.
an warm imprint left in a cold bed.
around the corners, I hear your voice.
your chair is always drawn out.
your shoes are by the door.
your jacket thrown carelessly on the sofa.
your drowsy laughter echoes.
I turn around to say good morning to you.
your spoon is in your oatmeal.
the floors of the hallways creak behind me.
but when I turn around to greet you.
you are never there.
a phantom limb with phantom pain.