The room is hushed, the morning gray,
Your empty chair still turned my way,
The cup between my trembling hands
Feels heavier than all my plans.
The scent still clings like yesterday,
When laughter hadn’t slipped away,
Now every sip tastes sharp and slow,
Of words we said we’d never throw.
A bitter warmth, a fading flame,
It aches to whisper out your name,
The silence hums where you should be,
A hollow echo inside me.
The final sip—I hold it tight,
As if it keeps you here in sight,
But cups run dry, and so do we…
And love turns into memory.