Now You’re Gone

You are no longer here.

There was no dramatic ending.

There was no final speech.

One day you were part of my routine,

and now you are not.

...

I wake up and remember in stages.

For a few seconds, everything feels normal.

Then I recall that you are gone.

...

The space you occupied is real.

Your side of the bed is untouched.

Your number is still in my phone.

Your voice is saved in old messages.

...

I have not deleted them.

I replay our last conversation.

I analyze what I said.

I analyze what you did not say.

I look for a sign that I missed.

...

This is not about blame.

It is about adjustment.

When someone leaves,

daily life changes in practical ways.

I cook less food.

I speak less out loud.

I sit in silence more often.

...

People tell me time will help.

They tell me I will move on.

They tell me this is part of life.

That may be true.

But right now, the fact is simple:

Now you’re gone.

...

I cannot call you.

I cannot fix what happened.

I cannot return to the version of life where you were present.

I am learning how to exist without you.

I am learning how to carry memories without expecting new ones.

...

The fact is,

You were here.

Now you are gone.

And I am still here,

figuring out what that means.

(A quiet personal reflection...)