You are here; through the closet emptied out the crinkled shirts at the back of the wood the hangers stomped on the floor the water that gushes along with the bubbles of scented detergents the faint creak of the door waiting for familiar footsteps to enter
You are here, yet blurred in distant passing.
“Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything.” ― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed