The Silhouette Left Behind

You left so softly

 I almost believed you were still here.

 Your toothbrush by the sink,

 Your jacket on the chair.

I still set a place for you at the table,

 still hold the air beside me into the shape of your hand.

 Now every empty space

 is a reminder

 of where you used to fit.

Love doesn’t die loud.

 It unravels in whispers —

 missed calls,

 half-written texts,

goodnights that stop meaning “I love you.”

 I should hate you,

 but instead, I miss you

 in ways I can’t explain to anyone

 without breaking again.