On goes it

Alone in the Silence

The house is quiet now.
Not the kind of quiet filled with peace,
but the hollow, aching silence
that echoes where laughter used to live.
Every corner is a memory.
Every chair, a ghost.

You left, and the world fell apart.
Not in a dramatic, earth-shattering way,
but in the slow unraveling of ordinary moments.
The mornings are colder now,
not because the seasons have changed,
but because your warmth is gone.

Losing you was not just losing a person;
it was losing the language we spoke together—
the inside jokes, the shared glances,
the plans for a future now untethered from its anchor.
I’m adrift in a sea of what could have been.

The days blur,
a carousel of routines without meaning.
I eat at the table where we once sat,
but the food tastes like ash.
I walk through the park we loved,
but the flowers seem dimmer now.

And yet, somewhere in the void,
a spark stirs—a whisper of life
beyond this grief.
Starting over feels impossible,
like building a home on the ruins of a city.
But the ground beneath my feet is still firm,
and the sun rises even when I cannot.

Perhaps, in time, I will rebuild.
Not in the same shape,
not with the same colors,
but with the strength that only loss can teach.
I will learn to stand alone,
not because I want to, but because I must.

The love we shared is a chapter I will always read,
but now, it is time to write a new one.
The pen feels heavy in my hand,
but with each word, I remember:
this story is still mine.