It didn’t hit me until today—
The hollow where your name used to sit,
The silence where my fingers once knew the rhythm
of dialing you just because.

For a while, your profile was enough—
a phantom of presence, a lingering thread.
But now, the echoes have emptied,
no image, no trace,
just a void where you once were.

Am I chasing ghosts
or simply learning to let them rest?
I wished. I hoped. I prayed.
Yet, in the end,
We turned into ashes.
Ms. Butterfly Genesis