When first they go, the world falls still,

A hush too loud, a void too real.

The air they filled now clings with ache,

A hollow carved that will not break.

Their laughter haunts the quiet rooms,

Their absence thick as winter gloom.

We reach for words we meant to say,

But grief has stolen them away.

The days crawl by in shattered light,

Each morning feels a losing fight.

A thousand questions left unheard,

A thousand wounds without a word.

But time, unasked, begins to mend—

A rough and quiet, faithful friend.

The tears still come, but not the same,

They fall like rain, not roaring flame.

We smile at things that once brought pain,

We speak their name and don’t feel shame.

We grow in ways we never knew,

The soil of loss, where strength breaks through.

We learn to walk, though not the same,

With softer hearts and fiercer flame.

We carry on their dreams and grace,

Their stories etched in time and space.

Yes, we lost the chance to right some wrongs,

To ask the whys, to hear their songs.

But still we learn, and still we strive—

Their absence taught us how to thrive.

And when the final dusk draws near,

When all is quiet, still, and clear—

We’ll see them there, just past the bend,

And tell them every tale since then.

Of how we lived, and how we grew,

And all the love we carried through.

The grief, the joy, the in-between—

The life we lived where they had been.

And maybe then they’ll smile and say,

“I never really went away.”