You didn’t slam the door.
You didn’t scream.
You just…
stopped arriving.

No final word,
no cracked goodbye.
Just space
where you used to be.

Grief didn’t knock—
it slipped in
through the silence
and made itself at home.

I still set the table for two,
in my mind.
Still expect your voice
in rooms
you never returned to.

How do you mourn
someone
who never said they were leaving?
I keep replaying the last moment
we shared
like it was meant to mean something.
But maybe it was just…
a Tuesday.

You left like smoke—
no shape,
no sound,
just scent on my clothes
and a burn I can't place.