The beige chair sits quietly empty.
No one sits there now.
So recently occupied,
it sits sad and alone.

It sits there, like some monument
to love’s loss.
To love’s final death.
To the loss of companionship.

It sits there watching me.
Wondering what I’m up to.
Wondering if I’m suffering,
as I truly am.

It sits there empty.
As empty as my heart,
my soul.
Waiting for another.

Waiting for another to sit.
Waiting for another to feel.
Waiting for another to love.
Waiting for eternity.

A waiting that must go on,
forever.
The empty seat must remain
empty.

That seat which I and a neighbour
hauled up the stairs.
Bringing it for you.
It remains empty.
For you.