She was here—
    three hours,
    a heartbeat,

    a lifetime wrapped in minutes.

Then she left,
    a good reason:
    a wagging tail,

    a loyal companion waiting patiently at home.

And suddenly,
    the space she filled…

    is loud,
    restless,

    _aching_ with quiet.

I check the clock,
  counting minutes,
  hoping they'll pass quickly,

  hoping they'll lead back to her.

Tonight feels unfinished,
     paused mid-sentence,
            mid-breath,
            mid-kiss.

She was here,
    just moments ago—
    but the door closed,

    and the missing started instantly.

Missing your warmth,
        your laugh,
        the quiet weight of your presence—

        already counting breaths until you fill this space again.

Come back soon—
     I'll be right here,
       counting seconds…

     already missing you.