Letter I slipped through time

Hey dad! I didn’t just lose you I lost the part of me that could still breathe. The world kept spinning, but I stayed still, watching everything fall apart quietly. Your voice still echoes in the cracks of my mind, a ghost that refuses to fade, and I cling to it because the silence after it feels like drowning. I see your face in everything that stands still too long, the mirror, the night, the spaces between my thoughts. You were home and now home is gone. They say “he’s in a better place,” but I’m not. I’m in the empty chair you used to sit in, I’m in the smell of your old shirt, crying because it’s fading too. I talk to you sometimes not out loud, just in the kind of whispers the soul makes when it’s too tired to pray. You should be here. You should’ve seen what I’ve become or maybe what’s left of me. Because when you left, you didn’t just die you took the light with you.