Therapy Bits

The house grew quiet in a single year,
as if the walls themselves exhaled
the stories you once told.
I walk its rooms like fragile halls of memory,
touching table edges, faded frames,
listening for footsteps I know won’t return.

Grief settles softly—
not the storm I expected,
but a hush, a slowing,
the way dusk folds itself over a field.

I lose you again in small moments:
the empty chair at Sunday’s table,
the garden gate unmoved by gentle wind,
the lullaby I almost remember
but not quite.

Still, somewhere in the quiet,
I feel the warmth of your hands—
a whisper of guidance,
a presence that lingers
like an angel leaning close
to remind me that love,
though changed,
does not disappear.

I carry you forward,
stitched into every good thing I try to be,
into every kindness I choose.
And though the house is quiet,
my heart is full of echoes—
and every echo is you.

Writing Prompts – Esther Chilton