Gone

Everything continues as normal,
everyone goes on like usual;
as if there wasn't a gaping hole in the world.
And I should wear it on my chest,
in my eyes,
in every word I speak -
but it's not there.

Like everything and everyone,
it's gone from me
mostly.
A word, a laugh, a sudden memory
brings it back.

And for a moment,
for a minute,
I wear it on my chest,
and in my eyes,
and in my voice.

These moments are not enough
to make up for this you-shaped hole.
There should be posters on every telephone pole
and billboards with your face
and everyone should know your name
and your laugh should play on the radio.

But everyone walks on as normal,
and I still behave as usual.
And my chest is bare,
my eyes are empty,
my voice has turned to ash -
you're not here.