There’s a painting on the mantel, nineteen, red hair burning bright. She’s frozen in a moment that still steals my breath at night. Every corner of this old room holds the life we built as one— that lighthouse from the rainy week when she laughed at every storm. I see her younger footsteps running soft across these floors, hear her laughter in the hallway like it’s waiting at the door. The girl she was still lingers in the sunlight on the wall— a warmth time couldn’t steal from me, a grace that touched us all. But the doorway stays empty now, and the mornings fall quiet and cold. I still wait for her silhouette, tray in hand, smile lined with gold. Forty years of loving her left more ache than I can hold. Now I’m only half a man, and the half I loved is gone. I sit here in my armchair, letting memory take her place. Her blue eyes in that portrait still outshine the passing days. I reach for her in shadows, in the dust her laughter stirs— every heartbeat is a question only she could answer. But the doorway stays empty now, and the mornings fall quiet and cold. I still wait for her silhouette, tray in hand, smile lined with gold. Forty years of loving her left more ache than I can hold. Now I’m only half a man, and the half I loved is gone. It’s been a year since I held her as her heartbeat slipped from mine. Still I lay out her favourite cup, still I talk to her sometimes. The silence has a memory, and it cuts me to the bone— I keep reaching for her shadow in a house that feels unknown. But the doorway stays empty now, and the mornings fall quiet and cold. I still wait for her silhouette, though I know she won’t come home. Forty years of loving her left more ache than I can hold. Now I’m only half a man, and the half I miss is gone. She’s been gone a year now… yet some nights I still hear her humming. Some days, I swear I can smell her perfume, just drifting through the room like memory. And every morning, I set out her chipped cup… habit, I suppose… or hope.
