Empty Apartment

I turn into my driveway, sit quietly for a moment, half expecting the door to open with your smiling welcome. Stopping at the mailbox first, I find it almost empty, nothing but some ads of no interest to me. I pick up the daily paper, damp from the rain, glance at the headlines. Boring. I drop it on the hall table. My raincoat goes into the coat closet, which looks twice as big without your heavy coat taking up space and snuggling next to mine. This place once so warm and cozy seems suddenly aloof, treating me like a stranger. No cheery fire, no food aroma greets me. Checking the refrigerator, I remember. I intended to stop at the store. Opening a box of cereal, I pour milk from an almost empty container, settle down in front of the TV and reach for the remote.