After you

It’s strange that even a house can die.
Nothing in it feels the same.
The intrinsic illusions of smell and touch
Are neutered by your loss.
The insidious decay of your essence has started
To unfold.
I see it in the way it presents itself.
There is a pallor to everything within.
Light has become harsher.
There is no comfort in its silence,
Or joy in its creaks and groans.
It is heartbroken, like me.

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