You left, not me—
the door still creaks where you stood,
a ghost in the hallway,
breathing out your name like smoke.
I kept the lights on.
I kept the coffee warm.
You walked into the rain
and never looked back—
like I was the one who vanished.
Now the house talks to itself,
echoes your laugh in the walls,
and I sit here,
tracing your shadow on the floor,
wondering if you ever noticed
the quiet you left behind
was louder than anything we said.