The house is quiet.
The empty cups on the coffee table, the perfectly still toy rattles. The soft breathing of a baby who, thirty minutes ago, was determined not to go to sleep.
There are dreams to be had in this kind of silence, but I don't want to dream without him.
I do not feel peace, but I do not feel anger and I do not feel sad.
It's always so quiet when he's not here.
I miss him.