Absence

It comes like a thick fog,

curling its fingers around the bones,

making a home in the hollow spaces

where laughter once lived.

It doesn't ask for permission,

just settles in-

a silent tenant in the rooms of the heart.

Grief is the heavy coat

you wear even in summer,

its weight a constant reminder

of all that is lost,

of what can never be returned.

There are days it loosens its grip,

lets you breathe without breaking,

and days when it tightens,

squeezing out the light

until even hope feels foreign.

I try to name it,

to pin it down with words-

but it shifts, slides

like sand through clenched fists.

There is no language for this ache,

only the slow erosion of time

against the edges of memory,

only the silence that fills the gaps

left behind by your absence.