The empty pillow shapes the space,
Where quiet breathing used to reside,
I reach into the dark to trace
The ghost of you still at my side.
The morning pours its lonely light
Across a kitchen built for two,
And every habit, day and night,
Becomes a monument to you.
The world moves on with steady pace,
While I am anchored in the past,
Learning to love a missing face,
And hold a hand that could not last.