‘She is not here.’ Reflection on good times with other people

The room reverberates with chatter.
The crowd anticipates a night of song.
A buddy brought me here; we both love music.
I’m glad he thought to let me come along.

I’ve seen this scene a hundred times before,
in concert halls in places far and near.
Tonight’s the same with one exception.
Although I’m not alone, she is not here.

The effort from the stage could not be finer.
The music thrills and fills our hearts.
But I can’t seem to shake the feeling
it’s not the same when we’re apart.

It’s different when she’s not beside me,
her grace-filled presence helping me feel whole.
The program ought to fill the vacuum.
But nothing there can quite console.

Perhaps I’ll tell her all about it.
Would that somehow fill the void
created by her absence here?
But soon I know I can’t avoid

the truth that shadows life today.
She won’t enjoy what I would say.
Her shrinking world constricts her view
to just what’s now, not yesterday.

And so I warmly thank my friend.
I muster smiles and winsome cheer.
I’m truly glad for times like these.
I’m not alone. But . . .  she’s not here.

Friends try to help me build a bridge
between the old me and what’s new.
I’m glad for all the times we share.
There’s joy in all we see and say and do.

But I’m still tied by fragile threads
to life we two deemed full, complete.
With each new dawn, I can’t forget
those days—nor these, yes, rich and sweet—but she’s not here.