empty

It is dark, I reach for the light switch and find it does not work. I have the key in my hand. I fumble for the lock, open the door and enter.

It is just as I expected, the furniture arranged neatly, the summer night fragrant and the curtains billowing in the wind.

I smile to myself, knowing it is you who creaked those windows open, not willing all that dust and mustiness upon me.

I arrange myself on my side of the aged worn-out sofa. The springs sing out, I place the glasses on the low table and wait.

I do not have to wait long. I know exactly when you come and occupy the empty seat across me: we raise our glasses in a toast and smile into our lives.

Like we have been doing for the last twenty-one years.

"All is not lost", I hear you say, wistfully, almost to yourself.

And I find myself smiling through my tears .

Unable to say all I came to say

and for which there are no words anyway......

And when I close the door behind me,

 the walls heave a sigh.

All that remains are two dust rings on the table.

And a room full of empty.