You Left

You left cold sheets one side of our bed
a book still open, partly read
silences, where once we talked
grass now growing, where once we walked

You left a picture of when life was bright
the shape of your body when I held you tight
your touch, your laughter, your every way
the colour you brought to the greyest day

You left rooms that echo of the life we knew
nights much darker when I think of you
words you whispered in our bed
words that will now remain unsaid

You left

With your parents, and later in life with friends, you see the gap left in a life when someone dies. It often seems to be the small things, never thought about, that continue to hurt.