The Silence I Live With

It’s not that
they shouted
when they left.

It’s that
they didn’t.

No warning.
No explanation.
No sorry.

Just
quiet.
Heavy,
dense,
suffocating silence.

I sat
in the same room
where we used to laugh.

But now
no sound.

Even the air
felt different.
Like it knew
they weren’t coming back.

And the worst part?
I still left the light on.

Hoping.
Foolishly.
Desperately.

But silence
doesn’t need a door
to close.
It just
sinks in
and stays.

So now,
I talk to myself
like they used to.
I make tea
for one.
I listen
to old songs
and pretend
they don’t sting.

This silence
it doesn’t end.
It learns
to live with you.

Until one day
you stop waiting
for sound.