There’s a corner in my days that remains empty,
no matter how time keeps filling it with new things.
It’s not that nothing ever comes,
but because something that once lived there
never truly left.
Sometimes, I just sit in silence,
feeling a shadow I can’t see—but I know it’s there.
Like the scent of rain lingering in the air,
even though the sky has long since cleared.
Longing is strange.
Not because I want to go back in time,
but because something was left unfinished.
Not a story,
not a love,
just a presence that no longer exists.
And on nights like this…
I still quietly leave a space untouched.
Not for anyone in particular,
but for something that once made me feel at peace.