What Do I Call This Space?

What do I call

this space

where you once stood?

How do I tell

the silence

to be still?

When dinner is ready,

there is no shadow

to dine with me.

In the places we haunted,

there are no echoes or whispers

of your voice.

No trace of your perfume.

No watching the candles

glow, caressing your

bronze skinned richness

alongside my fingers.

Where we lived,

no sighs of love

disrupting the quiet night.

What do I call this space?

‘Loneliness’ is too sad a name.

‘Alone’ is too cynical and stark.

‘Freedom’ is a lie.

What do I call this space?

Come back and tell me.

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