The house is louder now
even when nothing is on.
The fridge hums like it is trying to explain itself.
The walls tick with the old arguments of the clock.
Even the dust seems restless.
Something left today.
Not like a door slam.
Not like a goodbye.
More like
a candle that just ran out
mid-thought.
I keep catching myself turning my head
the way you do
when footsteps are supposed to follow.
But the hallway keeps its secret.
There is a certain weight
in quiet after loss.
Not empty.
Heavy.
Like the air learned your name
and refuses to let it go.
People keep asking if I am okay
and I keep saying words that sound like yes.
It is amazing how language can lie
with perfect posture.
Somewhere a memory is still warm.
Somewhere a laugh is still ringing.
Somewhere a future is still trying to figure out
where it went wrong.
Tonight even the crickets outside
are off rhythm.
Like the earth skipped a beat
and does not know how to count anymore.