Light Sitting in the Empty Chair

The kettle whistles and your hand moves before your mind catches up. You reach for the second mug—the one with the chip, the one that was always theirs—and you set it on the table.

Then you stop. The silence rushes in to fill the space where a voice used to be.

You are standing in the wreckage of a habit that no longer has a home. But listen—the light did not wake up late today.

It is already pouring into the room, touching the empty chair just as gently as it touches your hand. You do not have to fill the silence to be held within it.

The morning is not a test of how well you endure the absence. It is an invitation to let the light sit with you in the space where the second cup used to be.