The Week After You Left. (May, 5, 2025)

The bed still sits empty, unmade, and cold. 

We didn’t have the heart to take it apart yet. 

Your room is still the way you left it. 

We haven’t bothered to go in other than to cry. 

Your clothes are still folded, still in the closet, still unwashed. 

We should give them away, we haven’t. They're still your clothes, even if you're gone. 

Your work that you had to do is still undone. 

We haven’t had the heart to throw it out yet. 

Your friends have been calling. I don’t want to pick up the phone anymore. 

They don’t want to accept what they’ve heard, they don’t think you could possibly be gone.

Your school now knows that you're not coming back. 

I don't know where I found the strength to tell them you’re not coming back.

Your job just sent an email that you’ve missed too much work. 

We haven’t bothered to tell them yet, they will learn soon enough. 

Your life didn’t end. 

Our life has. 

You left us behind. 

We’re still here, here without you. 

You can't be gone, I can’t accept it.  

I can’t say that you’re gone. It makes it real.