Ghost Limbs

The house is quiet now.
Too quiet.
Like a held breath, waiting for a storm
That already broke, months ago,
And left only wreckage in its wake.

I walk through rooms that still smell faintly of you,
A phantom scent clinging to the curtains,
The carpet, the very air I breathe.
It’s a cruel reminder, a ghost limb aching,
A constant throb where you used to be.

I see your coffee mug on the counter,
Still stained with the ghost of your lipstick,
A faded cherry red, a promise unkept.
I should throw it away, I know,
But I can't bring myself to do it.
It's a piece of you, however small, still here.

The radio plays our song sometimes,
Unexpectedly, in the grocery store,
Or on the drive home from work.
And I have to pull over, catch my breath,
Until the melody fades, and the ache subsides.

People tell me it gets easier,
That time heals all wounds.
But they don't understand this kind of wound,
This hollow space you left behind.
It's not a clean break, not a surgical cut.
It's more like a slow bleed, a persistent leak
That drains the color from everything.

I try to fill the void with new things,
New people, new experiences.
But they all feel… hollow.
Like pale imitations of the real thing.
They don't fit, they don't feel right.
They just highlight the emptiness, the absence.

Sometimes, late at night, I dream of you.
We're back together, laughing, happy,
Like it never ended.
And I wake up with a gasp, disoriented,
The reality crashing down on me like a wave.
The worst part is the knowing.
Knowing it was real, knowing it was good,
Knowing it's gone forever.

I'm learning to live with the ghost limb,
To navigate the world with this phantom ache.
I'm learning to breathe in this quiet house,
To silence the echoes of your laughter.
It’s a slow, painful process,
A constant battle against the memories,
The what-ifs, the could-have-beens.

But I know, eventually, the pain will fade.
The ghost limb will grow numb.
The memories will soften, lose their sharp edges.
And I will learn to live fully again,
With this scar, this reminder,
Of the love that was, and the love that could be.
I will carry you with me, not as a weight,
But as a part of my story, a chapter closed,
But never forgotten.
And maybe, someday, I'll be able to listen to our song
Without feeling the sting of tears,
Without the ghost of your hand in mine.
Maybe, someday, I’ll truly be free.