Just you alone is home, my home-- I'm sure you already know that. I still see you in places, specific ones, like my kitchen: I picture you rummaging through the fridge and the overhead cabinets for random ingredients of a potential cook-up. Or maybe you'd be seated at your favorite place in the adjacent dining room, at the head of the table, looking over at the kitchen where I would be making your favorite dish.

I see you adjusting your coat by the hallway mirror, and you'd grab my hands, asking for my help as I'd walk by. On nights you are framed by the sheets on the bed, smoothing out a pillow and patting the spot by your side for me to get in. Some nights, you sit up against the headboard and whip out a book from your literary collection. On mornings, you live so well in the living room, with the news on, while having a newspaper on hand as well.

You've become my definition of home. But now that you're gone, I am lost on finding a new place to move my heart into.