Without You

Without you here, the quiet has never been so loud. The hum of the fan from the furnace in the background, the ticking of the clock, and the sound of my cat’s nails scraping the wood of the door frame all seem to be magnified. I keep waiting to hear the sound of your breathing, the sound of your nails hitting the wood floor as you’d walk, or all of the noises you would make that would drown out this deafening silence.

Without you here, I can’t seem to not see you in the places you once were. It’s like my eyes can’t comprehend that you aren’t here anymore. I see your bed without you in it. I see the open the door without you running to me. I see your bowl full of food without you to eat it and I can’t seem to get myself to throw it away. I see your harness and leash without you to wear them. I see your rabies tag we didn’t get to put on your collar yet. I see visions of you in my head that won’t go away.

Without you here, time doesn’t make sense. I woke up thinking I needed to put my jacket on to take you for a walk, only to realize I don’t have to do that anymore. Like clockwork, I’d subconsciously be aware of the time that went by because I knew it would be time for you to use the bathroom or get your next dose of medication. I have so much time on my hands but I didn’t have enough time with you.

This piece is part of the #SOL2k
March Slice of Life Story Challengek
hosted by the Two Writing Teachers