The Quiet After You

You didn’t leave like thunder,

No crash, no final shout.

Just a silence soft and heavy,

Like the breath the world runs out.

Your coffee cup still on the shelf,

Your scent still in the air,

Your laughter echoes in the walls—

But you? You're not there.

We made plans in golden ink,

Dreams on ceilings, stars on skin.

But paper burns and ink will fade,

And silence settles in.

I still wake at 2 a.m.,

Expecting your voice in the dark.

But all I hear are empty thoughts

And the ticking of a tired heart.

I wonder if you think of me

When the rain taps on your glass,

Or if my name has disappeared

Like footprints on wet grass.

I talk to ghosts of what we had,

In poems you’ll never read.

And water flowers in my chest

That bloom with quiet need.

You broke no vows, you made no scenes,

But left me all the same—

A house half-full, a song half-sung,

A whisper with no name.

But here’s the truth I’ve come to find,

In this quiet you left behind:

I am still soft.

I am still whole.

And heartbreak cannot keep my soul.

So I gather me, both bruised and brave,

And rise like morning light—

You left a silence,

But I will fill it

With the sound of my own fight.