Send me a postcard

Lonely.
I wander in the way one would a suddenly empty house, clutching still warm clothing and attempting to sniff up all of its scent before it's too late.
Things I do to distract fall short, and I am attacked in the inevitable quiet moments by the sensation of being adrift.
Lonely.
I don't know how I ended up alone; where everyone's gone that's so much better than this home we built with our own hands.
Our own blood. Our own tears. Our own love. I'm
Lonely
In the sharply aching way that forces my lungs to struggle for air. I'm drowning;
I'm alone.
Where have you gone?