“When You Are Not There”

By Greeva Shah

I miss you like hell—

not the fire, but the hollow after flame,

where breath forgets its name

and lungs move like ghosts

in a house that once held laughter.

My heart ticks,

but each second feels like a cardiac arrest—

a rhythm without music,

a drum without skin.

My body walks,

but it’s a puppet in the rain,

strings soaked,

limbs numb,

a machine that mimics life

but never lives.

You are the soul I misplaced—

the shadow that should stretch beside mine,

the oxygen that turns air into grace,

the nectar that makes this wilted flower bloom.

Even a second without you

is a storm without shelter,

an umbrella snatched mid-downpour,

a madness that dances

in the silence of your absence.

You are the sunshine

that teaches my skin to feel,

the pulse that reminds me

I am more than just flesh.

By Greeva Shah