By the time the room settled,
even the silence felt like it had moved on.
Shadows no longer clung to corners;
they drifted, unclaimed.
The air remembered a heat
that no longer lingered,
and the furniture seemed smaller,
as if it had exhaled.
Nothing was announced,
nothing mourned,
but the weight of what had been
softened,
and light shifted
into a place where endings
could simply be,
without ceremony.
Somewhere in the house,
a door eased itself closed,
not with finality,
but with the gentleness
of something choosing
to let go.