I open my eyes expecting to see you,
but you’re still gone.

Every day I notice
empty spots
on the couch
on the bed
on the chairs where you used to sleep.

Empty spots
coexisting with soft light
illuminating the spots on the floors
where you used to bask.

A grey, lazy feline
softly vibrating and moving
his little paws against the carpet
in a rhythmic fashion.

His tiny green eyes closed,
but would often open
to see the human before him
with love in his eyes.

Every day I walked downstairs
past the places where you’d sit
sometimes meowing impatiently
waiting to be generously fed.

Empty spots
where before there was joy
there was comfort and calm
and there was a furry companion.

Where he once lay
there are now only empty spots.

And I will keep them empty
in case your spirit decides
to lie there again.