The Weight of Quiet Rooms

There is a silence that speaks louder than any voice I've ever known— the kind that fills a room after someone leaves and doesn't come home. It settles into the chair they sat in, curls around the coffee cup still warm, and whispers through the curtains like the echo of a storm. I've tried to fill it with music, with laughter borrowed from the past, but silence has a memory that always seems to last.