Days Like This

On days like this, I am a sullen girl.1

It's raining again outside. Is it the rain that makes me this way?  Probably not, I was lonely long before the sky came down.  Is it the smells?  You loved the way rain smelled.  Every time it poured like this, you placed tons of glass jars outside to catch the falling rain.  Even though I walk to the window now, I know there are no jars outside.2

So, I will walk to the bathroom instead, your silk scarf wrapped tight around my body.  You wore it just a few months ago, and I can still smell you in the tightly woven cloth.  I can still smell you everywhere, especially in this room.3

Your shoes are still next to the bathtub, smirking at me.  They sit against the porcelain, and I am overcome with anger.  Why?  That's what's facing me now.  If you were still here, they wouldn't be next to the tub... they'd be in the hall, beneath your favorite coffee table.4

The trashcan is much too empty.  There's no floss stuck way down in the bottom, there's no wads of hair.  Seeing the hair in the trashcan every night depressed me, but not as much as seeing none at all.  I always knew I'd see it empty, but I wasn't ready to face it.5

There's no toothpaste on the sink, no finger prints on the mirror.  You always said you'd stop being so sloppy one day.  I'd rather have a greasy sink and a grubby mirror, just to have you back.6

I see these small changes everywhere, but I still cannot accept them.  I knew this time would come, however, and here I am- just not ready.  7

I just can't stand them, mom.  It's these small changes that remind you're gone.8