Dearest John

I have been away and am soon going to be headed back to the house we used to own together and which I now own alone.

I can’t call it home.  It doesn’t feel like home any more.

I’m glad I can remember saying to you – that home was wherever you were.

My home was with you, beside you.  In your arms, at your side in bed.

Without you, it’s just a building with our possessions in.  The building I’m still living in – temporarily.

No, there’s no warmth or comfort in the thought of going ‘home’.

Only sadness.