When you left this morning

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 haven’t
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 I’ll 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.

source: hannah