The things I notice
now you are gone.
The bin, is never full.
The random clutter,
of shoes,
clothes
and the piles of mail
you never open.
Gone.
The books on the shelf,
you never read.
Gone.
Your make-up, strewn
across the sink,
a hundred tiny objects,
laid haphazardly,
everywhere.
Gone.
So many
of the small
annoyances,
gone.
All that made
this house,
a home.
Gone.
The chaos,
somehow
I miss the most
now, you are
gone.