I Didn’t Miss You Today

I woke up and your name didn’t echo in my first breath. I made coffee without thinking about how you liked yours. I passed our old bench— you know the one— and felt nothing. Not even a flicker. And it didn’t hurt. Not like it used to. There was no ache, no quiet longing hiding behind my eyes. Just air. Just sky. Just me. I didn’t check your page. I didn’t wonder where you were, or who was laughing with you. I didn’t write your name in my poems. I didn’t feel like something was missing. I just… lived. And that, more than anything, is how I know it’s over. Not with tears. Not with rage. But with peace— the kind that says, “You no longer live here.”