The quiet ache begins, a hollow space

Where laughter used to echo, warm and deep.
A sudden stillness, where a voice once was,
Now hangs in air, a whisper I can't grasp.
The world keeps turning, heedless of my pain,
The sun still rises, paints the sky with gold,
But shades of grey have settled in my heart.
I trace the lines upon a faded photograph,
A ghost of warmth beneath my fingertips.
Each object holds a story, a shared glance,
A scent, a sound, a gesture I recall.
This grief, a guest unbidden, makes its home,
And claims a corner of my waking hours.
It is a river, winding through my soul,
Sometimes a trickle, sometimes a raging flood.
I learn to walk beside it, not to fight,
To find a strength in sorrow's steady flow.