After the Chair Was Left Empty

The house feels different since that person left. There's a new silence in places that used to have noise, an empty chair at the table, a number in your phone you still haven't had the heart to delete. The longing comes in waves, without warning, and knocks you down in the middle of an ordinary day.

I don't ask you to pretend you're fine. Crying is not a lack of faith — it's proof that you truly loved. I promised comfort to those who mourn, not to those who hide their pain behind a forced smile. Cry before me as much as you need to — your tears don't trouble me, I gather every single one.

Time won't erase who that person was to you, but little by little I will exchange today's unbearable weight for a longing you'll one day be able to carry with more lightness. Until then, I weep with you.