The Good Morning that wont come again

 






​He said “Good Morning” like a ritual,
Simple, steady, every single day.
Not loud, not eager—just there,
As certain as the sun, as quiet as breath.

Even when we moved on,
Different jobs, shifting time zones,
His “GM” still arrived—
A soft tap on the screen,
A thread still holding.

He was not a loud friend,
Not one for long calls or sudden jokes.
But in that two-letter greeting
Lived a kind of presence—
A rhythm, a reminder,
A man whose kindness was quiet,
But daily, dependable.

And then, silence.
A morning passed—strangely still.
Another followed—heavy with waiting.
By the time we noticed the absence had a shape,
News came—he was no more.

​Gone, not with farewell-  But with the dignity he always carried—Unspoken, unfussed.

There are no grand words to dress this loss
Just the hush where a greeting once was.
The absence is small, but piercing—
Like a space cleared out
In the corner of a room you never looked at

​Now, the phone does not blink with that first ping-The ritual is broken

We call it a small thing—two words.

But they held the weight of a human soul
That “Good Morning” greeting
that will never come again.

Comments

  1. AnonymousJune 26, 2025 at 2:28 PM

    Yes. Those good mornings wont come. Very profound thoughts. Thanks.

    ReplyDelete

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