She Said Goodbye, What If Tomorrow Never Comes?

She stood at the window, tracing the horizon

where the plane had vanished into the pale blue.

The city felt smaller now,

like it had shrunk in the absence of her laughter.

People congratulated, hugged, smiled,

but their words felt hollow, echoing off walls

that now seemed too empty, too wide.

She remembered mornings when her voice

was the first to greet the day,

how her laughter filled the quiet corners of the office,

how her presence made even the busiest hours lighter.

And now, silence had taken her place,

a quiet that pressed against her chest

like a hand she could not remove.

She thought of all the little things —

the shared jokes, the knowing glances,

the way she had a way of seeing everyone

even when no one saw themselves.

And the ache grew,

a slow burn that whispered over and over:

She’s gone. She’s really gone.

Tears threatened, but she didn’t let them fall.

Some grief is too deep for tears.

It curls inside the heart,

a ghost that follows the echo of every memory.

She wanted to tell her,

I’m proud of you. You deserve this.

But even in pride, there was longing,

a hollow space where presence used to live.

The days would pass. The city would continue its noise,

but the girl who stayed behind

would always remember the warmth

that left with her,

and the quiet ache of missing someone

so much it almost hurts to breathe.

And yet, she would carry it —

this sadness, this love, this quiet reverence.

Because some bonds, even stretched across oceans,

never break.