The Aftermath

It's always hardest right after he leaves. His coffee cup is still on the counter, half filled with the liquid that he can't live without. The house is colder, not having recovered from the many openings and closings of the door that are required to carry his stuff out. My room looks empty without his clothes all over the floor, and with everyone still sleeping, it's lonely. Even when they wake up it will be lonely, because he's not here.