That chair. It just sits there, empty, right where he used to be. The sun, it comes every day, just like it always has, It feels like it's waiting too, you know? Like it expects him to walk in, clear his throat, and sit down for his coffee.
Every morning, I look at that spot, and it's like my own heart is holding its breath, just waiting for a glimpse, a sign, anything.
The sun doesn't forget, and neither do I. It just… waits.