When

Sounds become pallid silence,

there is nothing I can understand;

it seems it only happens,

when you're not here.

The kitchen is quiet,

the bedroom vacant of life's pleasures,

and it only happens,

when you're not here.

Life moves on,

memories flourish,

the mind thinks too much,

wondering all the what ifs.

Sailing ships across the North Shore,

walks across Park Square,

hot-air ballooning in springtime,

and that no longer happens because you aren't here.

Words bringing laughter,

hearts churning as one;

but it never happens,

because you aren't here.

Come back to me,

one more time.

One last chance to live again.

It will never happen.

You ... are gone.