Death is the world's most powerful vacuum. It attaches itself to the houses of the dead and the hearts of their survivors, sucking the spirit away. And the memories ride the air from room to room, haunting me like ghosts. I think loneliness is a living thing. I feel it moving around inside me, its weight in my abdomen, right on top of my stomach.
People talk about feeling things in their heart and on their chest.
I haven't slept a night through in months. I lay in bed, staring at the blackness, eyes open and alert, waiting for the rest of the sky to crash down on me. I decided that when they find me, I at least want the house to be presentable. This morning I made my bed for the fist time in two weeks. I washed each dish and piece of clothing I own.