The bed is too wide on your side tonight,
pillows untouched, cold in their silence.
I reach for your hand out of habit—
but meet only air
and the ache of absence.

The clock still ticks,
the kettle still sings,
but the world forgot how to be beautiful
the moment you left the room.

Your laughter lingers like perfume in corners,
soft echoes of joy
in a house now full of sighs.

I talk to the shadows,
hoping they carry my words
to wherever you are—
as if love could cross miles
on whispers alone.

Come home to me, love.
Bring back the light.
This life, without you,
is just passing time
in the shape of longing.