I still set a place for you every night. The seat across from mine, empty since you left.
Found your school photo in an old wallet yesterday. Cropped with scissors, edges uneven, your face cut out from the class lineup.
The youth pastor said we'd always have each other. He meant well. He didn't know that some things get snipped away too.
Today a customer tipped me with a crumpled five and a note: 'Keep the change, kid.' You used to say that to me when we split a sandwich.
I came home and set the table. Fork, knife, napkin, water glass. The same as always.
It's a small thing. But it saved the day.
That empty seat is the only prayer I still say.