My Empty House

As I sit in my empty house, I often reflect over and over again about the whereabouts of David when he lived with us and about what he did. I see his empty chair by the stove and my heart skips a beat. I see his empty seat on the couch in front of the TV and tears fill my eyes. I imagine him at gatherings in the dining room and I scream. In the kitchen I see him standing near the sink talking to me about his recent adventures and dreams and my heart melts. By the stove I recall him asking me to cook his favorite meals and I wish that I could. I imagine him coming up the driveway with his German shepherd to great me and I ache all over. I hear his comments about the beautiful flowers in front of the house and my soul bleeds. I often see him painting the walls in the house and I touch the walls as if I am touching him. I see him fixing what needed to be fixed around the house and I wish that he would fix my broken heart. I hear him coming up the steps looking for me and I am filled with sorrow. I hear him singing in the shower and I yearn to hear his voice again. Most of all I imagine him sitting on the deck chatting with us and telling us what a beautiful day it is. Now my empty house is silent. You can only hear the beating of my heart and the falling of a tear drop.