This is how sad it is when somebody goes

Mornings do not feel

the same without you here.

"Something" spins around and around

on the stereo,

I keep it on repeat to remind me.

The only thing that is missing the noise waking

you up, like that time I was making

pancakes and you woke up, startled and without me,

and instantly you were scared that I had left you.

Like I’d ever leave you.

All of the things I have painted mean nothing
without your approval.
The coffee can't hold a candle to your coffee,
and the trees I see on 64th Street
driving to work
aren't pretty at
Christmas time anymore,
at least not to me, driving without you.
I hardly even acknowledge it all,
or the premonition that you
might not come back.