the day you left

The sun rose crooked, like it knew something had slipped through the cracks of the blue, streets hum empty, sidewalks sigh, every shadow whispered your goodbye. Coffee cups clinked, but no one stirred, the birds’ songs trembled, unsure, unheard, wind chased corners, kicked up dust, like the world forgot what it once could trust. Phones lit up, but no one called, echoes danced down the empty hall, laughter faded, the clock ran wild, every tick a wound, every tock a child. The walls remember the shape of your hands, the air still shakes where your voice once stands, even the stars blinked slower that night, as if the sky itself mourned your light. Cars kept moving, indifferent, fast, but hearts slammed doors that couldn’t last, the world didn’t stop, it twisted, it spun, but some pieces shattered, never undone. And in that silence, that bitter, raw place, you left a ghost in the pulse of space, a ripple, a tremor, a world unmade, and everything waits in the shadow you laid. If