The sun rises anyway,
indifferent to absence,
painting the same golden squares
across your empty bed.
Coffee brews in kitchens
where your name will be spoken
in past tense for the first time,
voices breaking on the syllables.
Your phone buzzes with messages
that will never find you—
lunch plans, inside jokes,
the ordinary love of ordinary days.
Someone will have to call your work,
cancel your dentist appointment,
decide what to do with the milk
that expires next Tuesday.
The world keeps its appointments
while those who loved you learn
to navigate the sudden geography
of a life with you-shaped holes.
Your favorite song plays on the radio
in a car where someone weeps,
remembering how you hummed along,
fingers drumming the dashboard.
The morning after is not an ending—
it's the first day of everyone else
learning to carry the weight
of all your unfinished stories.
Suicide is not the answer. You are strong.