I Didn’t Miss You Today

I woke up
and your name
didn’t echo
in my first breath.

I made coffee
without thinking
about how
you liked yours.

I passed
our old bench—
you know the one—
and felt
nothing.
Not even a flicker.

And it didn’t hurt.
Not like it used to.

There was no ache,
no quiet longing
hiding behind
my eyes.

Just air.
Just sky.
Just me.

I didn’t check
your page.
I didn’t wonder
where you were,
or who
was laughing
with you.

I didn’t write
your name
in my poems.
I didn’t feel
like something
was missing.

I just…
lived.

And that,
more than anything,
is how I know
it’s over.

Not with tears.
Not with rage.

But with peace—
the kind that says,
“You no longer live here.”