Silence After You

The door clicks shut— a breath held tight in empty halls. Silence folds around me, a heavy shawl, worn thin by grief. Your chair still holds your shape, a ghostly imprint in quiet wood. The air tastes of absence, a language spoken between heartbeats. I search for your voice in shadows, but silence answers— a slow, patient tide pulling me under, carrying memories like driftwood ashore. In this stillness, I hear everything— the weight of your last breath, the echo of laughter turned to dust, unspoken words resting beneath my skin. Here, silence is no emptiness, but the loudest thing I know.