The house makes a different kind of quiet now.
Not empty.
Just paused—
like the moment after a breath
that never quite returns.
There’s no meow to greet the sun,
no stretch of paw against the sill.
Just bird sounds on the TV
and a bowl still sitting
where no one will eat.
I whisper her name sometimes,
not to summon—
just to remember
the way sound used to wrap around it
like a prayer.
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