I walk through rooms once filled with light,
where silence now replaces sight.
The chair you sat in, cold and bare,
the empty space you used to share.
I hear your voice in every hall,
but turn to find no one at all.
Your footsteps echo on the floor,
but when I look, you're there no more.
The walls remember all we were,
yet time has blurred what once was sure.
I touch the things we used to own,
and feel the weight of being alone.
Your absence fills each corner deep,
a quiet sorrow, buried, steep.
The house is full of things, but I
can't help but hear the last goodbye.
