When Something Living Leaves

It’s strange how quiet a room becomes,

When something living leaves,

The house feels bigger, colder too, 

Like it forgot how to breathe.

The bowl stays full, the shoes untouched,

The bed still holds a shape,

And all the little everyday things,

Bloom into something great.

We don’t know what to do at first,

Just stare, or cry, or pace,

Grief doesn’t follow rules or maps,

It runs its own race.

Some people speak, some people don’t,

Some try to fix the air

But nothing puts it back the same,

When someone isn’t there.

It changes how the world looks,

Makes colors lose their light,

And even joy, when it returns,

Feels different than it might.

But in the pain there’s something real,

A sign that we have cared,

That love was given, deeply so,

And now it's just not shared.

We learn to live with missing things,

To carry love and ache,

Because when something living leaves,

A quiet part won’t wake.