The House is Empty

The house is empty when you're not here.

There's no one to share the commute with in the morning. There's no one to wave to when I drop you off. There's no one to smile at when you pick me up.

Although I exclaim, "Trudy's here!" as I spot your car in the driveway, the trick doesn't work. The house is still quiet when I walk in.

And in the evening, with my arms and legs spread out on the bed in anticipation of luxurious sleep, I cannot.

The house is so empty when you're not here. (But it won't be empty much longer.)

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