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Streams of light on your empty chair,
The house echos it's emptiness,
Wisps of air like your sighs,
Escape through shut windows and doors.

She walks around trying to ignore,
The loose ends of the puppet strings,
But the gap in time you've left behind,
Draws her too fast into misery.

The clock continues to tick,
Through every moment of despair,
Passing every moment as if unaware.

We pass by your chair,
Skirt around it even,
Not avoiding your memory,
But wanting to believe you still sit there.
We Hold up a glass to you,
And drink to your health,
Just because it's what we've always done.

Your chair still sits empty though,
We hear the sighs as we pass,
The invisible boxes of medicines,
The large T.V that you could watch,
Hold you in a realm we cannot see,
And we smile in hope,
That happy you will be.