Rooms Without Voices

Rooms Without Voices

Some rooms hold,

the weight of absence,

heavier than anything,

I could ever carry alone.

Chairs remain still,

exactly where they were,

as if waiting,

for the ones who left.

Walls keep secrets,

etched in moments,

that refuse to fade,

even when lights dim.

I walk through halls,

past silent doors,

feeling the echo,

of footsteps now gone.

Loneliness enters,

without invitation,

pulls out a chair,

and sits across from me.

The night grows long,

stretching thinner,

as if time slows down,

to remind me who is missing.

I hold a lamp,

to chase the quiet,

a small defence,

against the growing dark.

Memories rise,

steady and clear,

filling the space,

with faces I still love.

Though the house is empty,

I am not lost,

for each memory glows,

keeping me upright.

I breathe again,

soft and firm,

ready to face,

another silent night.