The Shape of Absence

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Imagine this.

One normal day. No warning.

No dramatic music in the background.

Just a regular goodbye… that quietly becomes the last one.

The sun still rises. Chai still gets poured. Life still moves.

But something inside you stops. Imagine…you will never see her again.

Not at the doorway. Not sitting in that familiar corner.

Not looking at you in that way that made you feel seen without explaining yourself.

You don’t realize in the moment that you are living your “last time.”

Because last times don’t announce themselves. They come dressed as ordinary days.

You replay memories in your head. The way she said your name. The slight pause before she gave advice. The softness in her scolding.

Same words from someone else will never sound the same.

You try to remember her voice clearly. You close your eyes and focus.

But memories are fragile… they blur at the edges if you don’t hold them gently.

And that scares you.

Imagine wanting to share something , a small win, a bad day, a random thought, and realizing the one person you wanted to tell is no longer reachable.

Where do those unsaid sentences go?

They just float inside you.

Grief is strange.It doesn’t always scream.Sometimes it just sits quietly next to you.

At the dining table. In the car.

On random evenings when the world feels a little too silent.

You walk into a room and everything looks the same.

The light falls the same way. The furniture hasn’t moved.

But the air feels different. Because presence has weight.

And absence has even more.

Imagine understanding too late that “I’ll call later” is not guaranteed. That “next time” is not promised.


If you had known that was the last hug…

Would you have held on longer?

Would you have memorized the moment more carefully?

Life doesn’t give rehearsal for its final scenes.

Time moves ahead. It doesn’t pause for anyone.

But a part of you stays behind… in that last conversation, that last smile.

Slowly, you begin to understand something deeper.

Love doesn’t end when someone leaves.It just changes form.

It becomes your patience. Your kindness. Your way of caring for others.

It shows up in the smallest habits you didn’t even notice you borrowed.Sometimes late at night, when everything is quiet, you feel her presence in a different way.

Not visible.Not touchable. But there.

Like warmth left on a chair after someone gets up.

Imagine never seeing her again, and yet carrying her everywhere.

In your strength. In your silence. In your prayers.In your becoming.

Some people don’t leave emptiness behind.

They leave imprint.

And maybe that’s the hardest and most beautiful truth of love,  Even when you will never see her again,

she continues to live… in the way you love the world.

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