The Hollow Room

This room remembers our laughs

the corners still hold your breath.

The air is thick with our ghosts,

and silence wears your silhouette.

I move through shadow, silent,

careful not to disturb the air.

Every step feels like forgetting,

and that is more than I’ll bear.

Your cup still waits in the cabinet,

your name still hums in the light.

I pretend I don’t look for your shape

when the day folds into night.

The walls don’t echo like they used to—

they listen instead, with ache.

As if they, too, are stuck waiting

for something nothing can break.

But I stay in this hollow room,

where we were more than just two.

Because even emptiness feels fuller

than a world that’s missing you.