Silent, not empty.
He walks through her room,
tracing her smell in the bedsheets,
in the inkpot on her table,
inside her closet, even her shoes.
She is watching him,
safely hidden behind the curtains,
afraid to have him come any closer.
She tries hard not to draw attention.
He feels her presence,
but her smell is of days bygone.
He can hear the russle of the curtains,
just like when they used to play.
She sees he is looking,
staying still like the other day,
when he was taking her body
to her last resting place.