I was eleven when the world broke,
when your voice faded from the house
and a silence larger than me remained.
The days went on,
but no longer with your steady steps,
no longer with your hands guiding mine.
At night I close my eyes
and there you are, Dad:
sometimes you smile,
sometimes you just look at me without speaking.
I dream of you because in dreams
there are no goodbyes,
there I can still run to you,
feel that you never truly left.
But when I wake, the bed is cold,
the house grows heavy with your absence,
and I am still that child
who learned too soon what it means to lose.
I search for you in the air, in gestures,
in every memory I keep like a treasure.
And though you are gone,
I carry you within me like a lighthouse,
like the unseen root
that holds my life together.