The Missing Piece

She sits in the quiet,

Where the air hums with absence,

And her heart beats a rhythm

Only her daughter could understand.

Each sunrise brings a hollow warmth,

Each night, a whisper of her name.

She is a mother incomplete,

A soul with a missing piece.

Her arms remember the weight,

The soft press of tiny hands,

The laughter that once filled the spaces

Now echoing with silence.

She dreams of her daughter’s voice

Gentle, bright, a melody

That lingers just out of reach.

It haunts her, a bittersweet ghost.

In her chest, love wars with longing,

And the ache of her absence

Writes stories in the shadows

She cannot unsee.

She knows no end to this wanting,

No balm for the tender wounds.

Only the hope, fragile as a candle’s flame,

That someday the piece will return.

Until then, she waits,

A mother tied to the stars,

Her heart reaching across the distance,

Holding tight to what she cannot lose.