Today I Wait in Vain

I hear footsteps on the stairs and I look up, expecting to see him.

He's not there.

I start to back my car out of the driveway and I glance back, expecting to see a little red car.

He's not there.

I pull his clean socks out the laundry basket but he's not there to give them to.

I find his Toaster Strudels in the freezer but he's not there to eat them.

I scroll through Facebook and find a post that reminds me of him but he wasn't the one to share it.

He doesn't come home and tell me about his day.

He doesn't feed the cats every night. 

He's doesn't ask me for a hug.

He's not there to start an argument with his siblings.

He's not there to look at me like I'm an idiot.

He's not there to tell me all the things that I didn't know I didn't know.

There's an empty space, a gaping, yawning emptiness that nothing can fill. It's inside me and all around me.

It doesn't seem real to me. How can it be that he's not there.

I'm waiting for him to come home.

I'm waiting for him to wrap his arms around me once more.

I'm waiting to hear his voice.

I'm waiting for him to fill the emptiness.

I'm waiting, in vain.