Praveen Kumar 
the afternoon light comes in the same way, the ceiling fan turns at the same speed, i make coffee for one and watch the steam rise, the kitchen smells like always;
her side of the table is just a chair now, no sound of her moving in the next room, no voice cutting through the silence, just the hum of the fridge doing its job;
i pick up my phone and put it down, not because there is nothing to say, but because i don't know how to start, so i don't;
i keep reaching for something that is not there, the way you reach for a light switch in the dark, just muscle memory, a life built around her;
tonight i will eat too little and sleep on my side, i will leave her pillow exactly where it is, and lie there listening to the city outside, counting the hours like they owe me something;
