Empty

I keep thinking that I'm ok, that I'm going to carry on. Not like I have a choice. Nothing can bring her back. Coming home to an empty house shatters that illusion. There's no laughter, no singing, just the dog padding down the hall in what often seems a bothered gait, to meet me. Sometimes even she can't be bothered, too lost in a dream to notice I've arrived home. Two days I a row now, I've gone from ok to crap in a matter of moments, just by pulling into the driveway.