The silence hums, filling the room
like an invisible weight,
heavy, but formless.
I move through the hours like a shadow,
unseen by the world I once knew.

There are people, sure—
passersby, voices unheard,
none lingering long enough
to breach the nihility of this stillness.

No laughter ties me to the mornings,
no hand-holding through the storm.

I trace the outlines of old memories,
but they crumble like brittle leaves,
disappearing into the air.

The absence stretches wide,
not just of love or touch,
but of something deeper—
the knowing glance, the unspoken word
that once tethered me to others,
that once tethered me to myself.

In this vastness, time loses meaning.
The days bleed into each other,
a blur of routine and muted color.

Hope, a distant echo,
fades with each sunrise
until it is nothing but a distant ache
too tired to rise again.

Loneliness isn’t the void—
it’s the hollow space where connection used to be,
where the warmth of another heartbeat
once softened the edges of life.

Now, the quiet grows,
and I am left to wander its expanse,
waiting for something
I no longer expect to find.