A poem, A poem, A poem.

This house is empty
this house is cold,
this house is quiet,
this house is home.

I woke up on the couch
peeked my head from under the covers,
and felt the cold
I was hiding from.

The DVD
was on the menu screen,
with no sounds playing,
just some lights flashing.

I was afraid
for only a moment,
thinking the rushing from the electric fireplace,
was the blood pulsing in my ears.

Where are you
and why is the house so still without you?
The draft blows so much faster,
when you're not here to block it.

The way you wrap up
in just one more blanket than my own
has always made me,
keep the thermostat down.

One more toothbrush
leaving a trail of droplets,
back to the holder,
that only collects dust on one side.

Those drops are frozen
in this still house,
that creaks while I'm listening,
but always quiets when you are here.

Get well
get well.