Black Sheep Brainchild

Empty.

There is an empty space where you should be.

Your laugh should fill the air, your generosity our hearts,

But they aren’t there.

There is a void.

A blankness.

Sometimes it seems barely a pinprick wide and the days pass with nary a longing, grief-stricken thought,

And yet others the chasm spans beyond where the eye can see, dark waves threatening to swallow any who dare attempt a crossing in their merciless depths.

In desperation I flounder, grasping for some sort of connection.

The blanket from your clothes is knotted and twisted in my grasp.

Light begins to seep in.

It breaks through the cold, winter clouds and kisses my cheeks.

Dust plays in the rays as I pull the heavy photobook from the shelf.

Your labor of love.

I trace your face and words with my fingertips, warmth tickling at my soul as memories flood and the inky blackness fades.

Calmness.

Peace.

You are gone, but not forgotten.

I miss you.