Ghost Limbs of Love in the Dawn

The house is quiet now, but your hands are still busy. You folded the small blanket again, tracing the shape of a presence that isn't there.

You left the coffee pot on, waiting for a morning that no longer needs it. These are not mistakes.

They are the ghost-limbs of love, reaching out into the empty air because the body remembers what the mind is still trying to accept. But look — the sun is rising.

The light does not scold you for these habits. It simply fills the room where you stand, warming the space your grief has carved out.

The dawn is here, not to erase the memory, but to hold you while you live through it. You made it through the night.

And the light that woke up with you is already enough for this new, strange day.