A hole that can't be filled

Dear Suzanne,

Every room is beginning to echo as each one fills with emptiness if that makes any sense at all. Before my very eyes - portraits, canvases, even furniture have begun to disappear. I almost forget what these rooms looked like before they were empty. Back when they were warm and full of life. The hallways seem to have grown colder and longer than they used to be. I would say the bedroom has gone into subzero temperatures too if it weren't for the fact that it was always cold in there. On some nights I swore I could see my breath. I cleaned the small layer of dust that had found its way onto the window seal of the big bay. Cleaning away any trace of something once living there, back when life here was as plentiful apples growing on a tree. I hate to admit that even the plants have begun to die. The first and last petal fell off the one I nurtured for so long. It was a Beauty and the Beast moment. One day the flower opened - the next it closed - the following it shriveled up - then came the day after when it was laying on the floor. The grandfather clock stopped ticking taking with it the soothing sound of the chime melodies. It appears he has grown tired too and lost all hope. I watched in sadness as the leaves blew off the trees the other day. Covering the ground with their deathly dullness they left the barks bare without a care in the world. Even they have given up. The sky turned the darkest shade shutting out the smallest glimpse of sunlight. The garden died along with everything else. And the children, well they have shut us out completely. Disappointed in the whole matter - which I must admit I cannot blame them. For I am disappointed myself. These days are endless and filled with something I've never known. Thank you for listening to my letter. I picture you in the sitting room near the fireplace reading this quietly to yourself. Maybe even sipping on your cup of tea every sentence or two to attempt to swallow down the hole forming in your throat. I learned that no hole can be filled. Not this time. Not now - not even. Thank you greatly for the invitation - I must confess the colors from where I sit are more than gray. I would be honored to visit you at your earliest convenience. In person may we talk more about both of our situations.

Graciously,

Annabeth  D'anor