a low-grade presence

i miss him, a low-grade hum, a gentle vibration, like the thrum of a guitar string. it's not a sharp pain, not a jagged edge, just a soft whisper, a reminder that he's not here. i find myself thinking of him in the mundane moments, the everyday tasks, the routine of life. washing dishes, walking down fc road, eating a plate of poha. byline="sanya" bucket="drip". it's as if he's still with me, a shadow, a ghost, a presence that lingers. i don't feel grief, not exactly, just a sense of absence, a sense of longing. it's a feeling that's hard to put into words, hard to pin down, like trying to grasp a handful of sand. the more i try to hold on, the more it slips away, leaving me with nothing but a faint memory, a whispered promise.