this familiar sequence
continuing
without its former partner…
a place on the kitchen island
your body still avoids,
not out of longing,
but because the pattern was shaped
when two people shared this room.
The pattern remains.
You lock the door the way
you were taught by repetition,
not instruction.
Two turns.
A pause.
A check of the handle.
The small habits that once aligned
with another person’s rhythm
still run their course.
In the hallway, you adjust the light
as if someone else were behind you.
Without expectation.
Bereft of hope.
Just that residue of long coโpresence
settled into the body’s timing.
Nothing asks to be resolved.
Nor seeks to be undone.
The sequence is intact because time
once braided two routines into one.
One routine remains.
This is the quiet fact of it:
a person shaped the way you move through your own rooms.
Their departure did not revise the pattern.
The pattern continues because it was earned through years of ordinary repetition.
You do not chase it.
You do not correct it.
You simply notice the way your body still carries the imprint
of someone who no longer walks beside you.
No wound.
Nary a signal.
Not a task.
Only the continued rhythm
of a life once shared,
still present in the smallest procedures of your day.
.
-
Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 23rd, 2026 05:27
- Comment from author about the poem: jeong is a korean word for an emotion that has no direct translation in many if not all languages, the closest being #amae (Japanese Nihongo) #samskara (Indian)
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 8
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Katie B., Friendship, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments7
a beautiful piece my friend
Most appreciative, Norman ๐๐ป๐๏ธ
Most welcome
Like two trees grown together when one dies and is removed the other retains the shape left from the imprint and bends of the other. Or a basket of reeds woven together when wet after dried it some reeds removed the others retain their shape although no longer woven. A great read we all are impacted by those around us even though they are gone, parents, spouse, friends. A fave my friend
Yes! If we only had a word that says all that, so this prompt from a Korean word that encapsulates that and more. Thank you dear friend ๐๐ป๐๏ธ
You are most welcome Cryptic
For me there is a sense of loss here.Loss for someone who was cared for.I felt a sadness in the cadence.However there is a preservation of memories and that is quite a positive ending.Always a thoughtful experience reading your works compadre
Thanks, David. That reminded me of a day, a long time ago, when Nan was washing the dishes, eyes fixed on the distance, out the window and telling me how Granddad used to walk up behind her and either pinch her behind or give her a hug while she was washing... she remarked that was probably love that everyone was always gabbing about. And that Korean word, jeong, just slipped into place. ๐๐๏ธ
This is lovely. Tells of loss and how the power of another's presence has an impact on your life in subtle, mundane ways such as the way you go about your day.
Thanks Katie B. much appreciated ๐๐๏ธ
Well written.Your poem explores the lingering effects of a shared life after a significant other departs. It reflects on how habits, routines, and physical environments retain the imprint of a relationship even when one partner is no longer present.
Rik, this is quietly devastating in the most restrained and human way possible. Thereโs no dramatic grief here...just the lingering architecture of shared life continuing after one person is gone. That makes it hit even harder. โThe pattern remainsโ stayed with me long after the read. Beautiful piece, my friend. This also reminds me of the Korean word han (ํ), another deeply difficult word to translate to English. ๐น๐ค๐๐ฏ๏ธ๐ฆโโฌ
Good write A.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.