Seeing her in an empty house
MONDAY, May 10 – The house is empty. I walk through the rooms, remembering what it was like, two years ago, when we walked through this place together. It was the spot we chose to return to after fourteen years abroad.
The indentations of the furniture on the floor. Nicks on the wall and spots on the carpet. Above all, I’m aware of Jenn’s presence, walking down the hall, in the bedroom, sitting in the living room, working in the study, busy in the kitchen. Gone.
Empty. Nothing left. Then I catch sight of a tiny object on the dusty baseboard in our bedroom. It’s an earplug. Jenn’s answer to my snoring. I freeze, torn between pain and nostalgia.
I leave it where it is.
Diary of a Widower 
I came across this piece yesterday and took the liberty of changing the masculine to the feminine.
Why should I seek? I am the same as
she. Her essence speaks through me.
I have been looking for myself!
-Rumi
Thank you, Paul.
It made me look for more of Rumi, and here’s another fitting one:
“Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.”