The Leftover You
Your presence lingers after you leave. In those still moments, the room doesn’t register an absence; you’ve electrified it, momentarily animated an otherwise-lifeless space, and the glow remains even once you’re gone. I feel it, too, like the soft warmth of wearing your shirt on a cold morning– you’ve gone to work, and I’m lonely in a quiet house, but I do the buttons and start …slowly… to feel better.
Something about you stays, a comforting hand on my back. And when I notice the sun on my face or the wind surrounding me and I’m thinking about you, I say to myself, This is what it means to be happy.