They didn’t slam the door.  
They just stopped walking back through it.  
And somehow,  
that silence broke louder  
than any goodbye.

I still keep the light on—  
not because they’re coming back,  
but because some part of me  
believes in ghosts  
that look like second chances.

Sometimes I hear their voice  
in a room they never entered,  
feel my hands reach  
for a warmth that no longer answers.

I don’t forgive what they did.  
But I’ve forgiven the shadow  
that lingers on my porch  
like a memory too soft to bury.

I keep the light on.  
Even when it flickers.  
Even when I’m the only one  
who ever sees it.

Because somewhere in the dark  
is still a version of me  
that believes in return  
without expectation.