Short Poem #3

I pour two cups — though one goes cold, A ritual I can’t let go. The chair across remains the same, An empty space that knows my name. I hum a tune I used to love, But silence swallows it above. And though I talk, there’s no reply, Just echoes answering my sigh. To live like this — alone, apart, With aching hands and hollow heart — Is learning how to simply be, When loneliness is company.