It only takes a few minutes to realise they're really gone.

This isn't a song with a chorus.

It's a moment, one you try to sit through, hoping it unbreaks itself.

For anyone who's ever waited too long to speak,

or stayed still just a little too long.

I turned the cup to where your mouth had been.

Steam’s gone. I didn't drink it.

Your side of the table’s clean—

not wiped, just... cleared.

The hallway light is off.

You never leave it off.

I think I heard the stairs at 2:13,

but I didn’t check.

A car passed by — I thought it might be you.

I froze halfway to the door.

The porch light flickered once —

then stayed dark.

I sat back down.

My hand was shaking.

I told myself I’d only stood

to stretch.

I moved your glass—just to prove

I wasn’t staring at it. I put it back.

You took your charger. I thought you left it.

I don’t know why that made me sad.

I checked my phone. Nothing new.

Typed your name. Deleted it.

You always said I think too much.

Right now, I think you’re right.

I made the bed. Halfway through.

Stopped when I reached your side.

The air feels heavy. My arms feel slow.

I’m not sure what I’m waiting for.

The glass clinked. I set it down.

It felt too loud.

I opened the window. Closed it again.

I hate the silence more than the wind.

I said your name—just to hear it.

No one heard. Not even me.

It sounded wrong in this quiet room.

Like something stolen or half asleep.

The mirror’s fogged. I haven’t showered.

But still—it’s there.

I drew a line down the center pane.

One side’s blank. The other’s blurred.

If I open the door, will you still be there?

If I call your name, will I break again?

I haven’t moved. I haven’t tried.

It’s been seventeen minutes. And I still don’t know why...