Had You Been There
They call my name, and the room fills with applause.
I smile. I stand. I accept every congratulation with practiced grace.
Yet beneath the noise, there is only one silence I hear.
Yours.
I wish I could say that missing you belongs to my sad days, to the sleepless nights, to the moments when loneliness settles heavily on my chest.
But the truth is, I miss you most when life is good.
When I accomplish something. When a dream I've carried for years finally unfolds before me. When the world gives me everything I once asked for.
Because joy still turns me toward you.
Every victory arrives with the same instinct:
"I can't wait to tell you"
And then I remember.
The milestone. The version of me that fought so hard to get here.
I reach the top of the mountain only to find your absence waiting there.
How strange to have everything I wanted and still feel the shape of what is missing.
Because some people become part of your definition of enough.
And no matter how far you go, no matter how brightly you shine,
there is a quiet ache in every achievement,
wondering if it would have felt different had you been here to see it.
