What Remains

Sometimes, it isn’t death that takes them
but something quieter, crueler.
We still see their face,
still hear their voice,
but the soul we loved has gone elsewhere.

No thunderclap of farewell,
just silence
where laughter used to live.
A dimming light,
a soft betrayal of warmth once constant.

They don’t vanish all at once.
They fall from us
in pieces.
A kindness gone here,
a tenderness gone there
until we’re holding a ghost
with a heartbeat.

We mourn them in secret,
while they walk beside us.
Not lost,
but no longer found.

And in the end,
what remains?
Only the name
echoing,
hollow
in the chambers of memory.