The Empty Chair

There is a chair that holds the shape of you,
a hollow where you used to be,
the room still hears your voice in corners
and in the silence left for me.

Gone too soon—that phrase says nothing,
it is only what the living say
who could not be prepared for the leaving,
who did not know it was that day.

The chair remains. I cannot move it.
It is the only place you still exist—
a piece of furniture that grieves beside me,
that understands what loss has kissed.
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