I didn’t notice your absence at first.

Days passed, then weeks, then months.

The page was quiet, and so was the little corner of my mind where your words used to sit.

I thought I had forgotten.

Then one evening, a new poem appeared.

And somehow, before I even read it, I felt relieved.

As if a lighthouse I never owned had turned its light back on.

Strange, isn’t it?

To miss someone whose voice you’ve never heard, whose face you’ve never seen, whose name might not even be real.

Yet there I was, smiling at a notification, realizing some people enter our lives not through doors, but through sentences.

And perhaps that is why I keep returning.

Not because I know you.

But because your words have learned the shape of my heart.