Sometimes I hear the chuckle of the wind. The sound as it slips between branches, causing them to creak and to moan. They're okay. The sky leans down and smiles and the sun softly kisses my cheek.

It's not so bad.

I wake in the shadow of the afternoon sun. Wearing sheets for my clothes as i roll out of bed. The teapot is whistling. I find your remnant in the kitchen, frying eggs the way i like them the most. Pouring a small glass of juice knowing that more must come. You kissed me good morning, if there was such a thing.

It's not so bad.

The cold floor is barren without you. The curtains stay closed, and the front door locked. There's a knock there this time, but it's not who i thought. Just a man from the city. I can't remember if i checked the mail yesterday. I did.

It's not so bad.

It's really not so bad. Not while i sleep. Not while i dream. The bad part is waking up. To find that half of the bed is still cold. The pillow left with no indent where your head would go. Sometimes i wonder if there will ever be an indent again.
So what do i do? "We fall asleep only in hopes of dreaming, that everything would be like it was before." So i sleep. Maybe for a day, maybe forever. The place where i feel safe. The place where i'm home. The place where the hole doesn't seem quite so big.

It's not so bad.