"She was a tired woman," said the worn-out, stained clothes
flung haphazardly across the squeaky chair.
The disheveled stacks of paper protruded from the table like weeds,
scattered along the scratched and scuffed desk said she was disorganized as well.
"A cautious over-thinker," mocked the vacuum, ironing board, and pots and pans set that sat,
deliberating with their doppelgangers on how to run the house.
"But not a boring woman," squealed the video games and crocheted pictures
lining old, well-used tops of dressers and peering from shelves,
watching over the bedroom.
Large grungy sneakers that would have filled a shoe rack
if they weren’t thrown under tables and behind sofas
revealed that a man lived with her.
The sunken-in chair, a cacophonous symphony, playing in front of the TV,
and the dirty dishes littering the counter as ornaments would yell he is a lazy man.
But the missing keys and empty lot whispered he was a hardworking and busy man.
"And there was an ambivalent sadness here," wept the suitcases
stacked by the unused entrance.
"Something is gone," said the packed boxes
taking residence in the middle of the living room.
Books on the plethora of shelves say she was not boring,
the drool marks on the couch say he comes home late.
And the sadness?
Picture frames and photo albums bloom from the mantel like flowers —
weekend trips, inside jokes, long forgotten outings.
"Something is gone," they laugh.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.