Your place on the couch is empty.

Your wind chimes still hang in the garden.

Your books are on my shelf, as old as you were.

It’s okay.

I know you haven’t really left.

I still think of you when I walk along the creek.

I think about how the water splits around the rocks.

It’s okay.

It’s not that I don’t grieve.

It’s not that I don’t miss you.

It’s quite the opposite, in fact.

But it’s okay.

I water your plants.

I collect things that make me think of you.

I keep in touch with your friends, who love me just like you did.

It’s okay.

I choose to believe death is not the end.

I choose to believe that you’re watching me with pride.

I choose to believe that things will be okay, even without you.

I hope to see you again

Someday.