The house seems still, quiet, empty.
Dawn breaks and her feet hit the cold wooden floor.
The aroma of coffee swirls through the air, meeting the cool breeze,
while the birds are singing the song of a new day.

Morning presses on.
Discontentment creeps in slyly through the door.
There's always some chore that finds itself unavoidable.
She mustn't sit in solemn despair.

Flipping through the channels over and over.
Dusting the shelves time and again.
Reading, writing, baking.
None the cure for the unrest of a widow.

Lunch prepared for two, but present, only one.
Picking and nibbling, but nothing seems to satisfy.
She starts the dishes to pass the time.
Bubbles forming, suds splashing.

She can't resist.
There's no escape.
Her mind lands on his precious reminiscence.
As melancholy as it seems, she knows there is hope to be found.

Still, the afternoon seems to have no end.
She finds herself aimlessly wandering.
Memories resurface with every glance.
Shutting her eyes seems to be no help.

She finds her day drawing to a close.
Her heart impossible to mend.
For she cannot be whole without her other half.
This is the burden she unwillingly carries.

A lonely game of solitaire awaits.
Companionship long over due.
Nothing seems to fill the void.
But life beats on.