I never imagined a world where the sun
Could rise without the things you said.
You were the keeper of my quietest truths,
The one who knew what my silence meant;
Now I am a book with the last page torn,
An echo of a life we both spent.
They say that grief gets softer with time,
But they don’t tell you how loud it stays.
It’s in the empty seat at the table,
In the habit of calling you through the haze.
I see a joke you’d find hilarious,
Or a sky turned a shade of bruised blue,
And for a heartbeat, I turn to my side—
Reaching for a shadow that looks like you.
The longing isn't a wave that passes;
It’s the gravity I walk in now.
A heavy, constant, invisible pull,
A debt to a love that I’ll always owe.
You took a piece of the world with you,
A colour I can no longer see.
-
Author:
fikrioshin (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: January 23rd, 2026 02:05
- Comment from author about the poem: Often, people talk about grief as an emotion, but as the poem suggests, it feels more like gravity. It is a physical weight that changes how you move through the world. The "habit of calling" or "turning to your side" highlights that the body remembers the friendship even when the mind knows they are gone. This reflection acknowledges that your longing isn't a sign that you aren't "moving on," but rather a testament to how deeply your lives were integrated.
- Category: Friendship
- Views: 12
Offline)
Comments1
Here there is a sense of physical loss as well as emotional and the pain of amputation. A powerful piece
Thank you for such a thoughtful reflection. I really wanted to capture that specific feeling of 'severing,' so Iām moved that the sense of physical and emotional loss resonated with you so deeply š
You are most welcome
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