"Whispered Echoes of the Past"

There’s an empty chair by the window,

Where you used to sit and smile.

A place that held your warmth and laugh,

If only for a while.

The cushion still bears your shape,

The mug sits where you’d place it.

I dust it off like clockwork,

But nothing can replace it.

The sun still spills across the floor,

The wind still taps the glass.

But mornings now feel colder,

And hours barely pass.

I pour two cups of tea at dawn,

And drink from only one.

The silence sips beside me,

Until the day is done.

Your sweater hangs behind the door,

A ghost in wool and thread.

I swear I hear you call my name

From echoes in my head.

The radio plays your favorite tune,

And I let it play too long.

Just to feel you sitting near me,

Wrapped inside a song.

The world keeps asking me to heal,

To laugh, to dance, to breathe.

But no one sees the way I break

Each time that chair still grieves.

I write you letters I won’t send,

With hands too tired to shake.

Each word a crack in my own chest,

Each line a silent ache.

No one really tells you

That the hardest part is this:

Not forgetting all the pain—

But the sound of what you miss.

So I sit beside your memory,

While the afternoon turns gray.

And stare at that old window seat

Where you once spent your day.

If love could build a doorway,

Or longing call you near...

You’d be right back beside me now —

In that quiet, empty chair.