The Weight of Missing You

By Shanmukha Vitta

I missed you today—

quietly,

in the spaces where the world didn’t see.

Not with tears or noise,

but in the soft, steady ache

that settled into my chest.

I missed you in the smallest ways:

as I poured my morning coffee,

waited at red lights to get to work,

and when the rain poured,

tapping against my window.

It wasn’t dramatic,

but it was constant—

a weight that grew heavier

with every moment,

a quiet reminder of what isn’t here.

I felt it in the rhythm of my day—

in the silence that stretched too long,

in the empty echoes of the halls,

where your voice should be.

And though no one noticed,

it was loud to me,

as loud as the first breath of the morning

and the last sigh of the night.

Yes, I missed you quietly today,

but it filled me the loudest, quietly.

By Shanmukha Vitta