I’ve learned to live with the spaces where your voice should have echoed— a hollow in my chest, silent as the nights I spent waiting for you to come back, to call, to hold.
You were the shadow I never caught, a ghost in the corners of my mind, fading with each passing day— a missing piece I’ll never find.
Sometimes I wonder if you ever looked back, if you ever saw the boy I was, standing at the window, hoping for a sign— but the wind carried only quiet.
And I carry that quiet now, like a scar beneath my skin, a reminder that love can be silent, and still, it wounds.
