Sometimes I'm ok.
Sometimes I look at my house and all I can see is how empty it is. There are still things here. My bed, TV, computer, I still have a couch, and a coffee table. My son's bed is still in his room. The bed he has slept in his entire life. There are still books on his floor, and there's junk scattered all over the house, enough for it to be a mess.
But for some reason when I look at the walls, when I hear the silence, when I can walk all the way to other side of the house without finding anyone, the emptiness attacks me. The missing curtain in the living room, the end table, the TV in the living room, her dresser, his dresser. The noise. Thats whats missing the most, the noise. There isn't any anymore, just silence. I can hear the clear across the house and there is nothing there. Those are the times that I break.