June 12th, 2025.

It was something

about the quietness

that shook me.

The morning

had forgotten 

the pain of last night

The clock ticked

Slow.

Reluctant.

As if time itself 

was unsure 

whether to continue.

And in that stillness, 

I expected to see you.

Maybe in the doorway,

half there

or reflected faintly 

in the windowpane

like a breath against glass

slowly evaporating.

it seems

the quietest place 

of all

is the closet,

absent of your luggage.

you had packed 

your loudness away.

and the clock 

kept ticking.