Cold Coffee

I stare at your empty chair.

This house used to be filled

with life and laughter. The air

feels different. There is something

missing. I still haven’t been

in your room since the day

you left. It doesn’t make sense.

I have left everything the same,

but so much has changed.

on the other side of your door.

Sure, I could donate your clothes,

take posters off your wall, get rid

of your dusty trophies and medals,

but that would make it all too real.

I’m not quite ready to feel.

I wake up from dreams that give

me false hope. Behind my eyes,

I see you so clearly, but when

I open them, you disappear.

Most nights, I can still hear

your voice, but when I follow it,

you’re not there. You used to play

tricks on me. Now, it’s my mind

that is playing tricks on me.

I don’t know what to believe.

Every morning, I pour two cups

of coffee: one for me and one

for you. I slowly sip it, as I sit

across from an empty chair.

I have so much to say but no

one to say it to, so I talk to myself.

I guess it’s better than talking

to a wall. I think about all those

missed calls, letters I never sent,

and the hugs I didn’t give.

I stare at my empty coffee

cup, get up, and put it on

the counter. I slowly walk

toward your empty chair

and grab your full cup that has

your name engraved on the side.

I then think to myself: I hate

that I have to waste your coffee,

before I pour it down the sink.