Next Day, Goodbye

Next day, goodbye —
no one will ask why
the chair beside me waits in vain.
Its tag will fade, its place reclaimed;
and I’ll sit quiet, lost in thought,
counting all the days we fought
boredom, stress, the endless grind,
with laughter stitched between the lines.

I’ll miss the one who sat so near —
a friend, a colleague, something dear.
We spoke of nothing, spoke of all,
in crowded halls, or empty calls.
Anywhere, anytime, it seemed,
conversation flowed like an easy dream.
Now all I see, where joy once grew,
is an empty chair, a different view.

I’ll miss the one who walked with me
when work felt tight, when breath ran thin.
“All right, let’s walk,” was all I’d said,
and heaviness stayed where it was, instead.
Steps grew lighter, walls grew wide;
stress fell silent by our side.

I’ll miss the one I could confide in —
the thoughts I never had to hide in.
“Want something to drink?” — a simple cue,
and there she was, that gentle smile too.
Small escapes, so softly planned,
a quiet bond that no one else could understand.