You left a hollow where your body used to be. Now, the air in the room tastes like iron and rain. I trace the cold sheets, hunting for a pulse that isn’t there. Your silence is a knife, slow and serrated, carving out the space where my sanity used to live. Every breath is a plea. You are not missing; you are everywhere, a phantom weight pressing against my ribs, sharpening the hunger until I am nothing but wanting.
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