The air is thick, words stick to my throat like tape.
The house, filled with objects taken for granted, feels empty.
Nothing’s out of place, except
                                        my balance

The picture frames, lined with silver, glint in the light.
The laughs of past memories echo, haunting the silence.
Nothing’s out of place, except
                                       our happiness

The corners of our cerulean couches are torn,
Broken by the claws of Chip and Cookie.
Nothing’s out of place, except
                                       their home

Justin and his chunky legs run back up the stairs,
Oblivious to the change coming for us.

*September 27, 2013 5:47:50 PM