It slipped quietly—
not taken, not lost,
just no longer hers.

The mirror held the shape
but refused the weight of it.

Hands moved out of habit,
touch without ownership,
gesture without meaning.

Rooms stayed arranged,
flowers still stood,
light still turned on—

but nothing answered back.

She remained in the frame
like something placed there,
like something already finished.

Not broken—
just separated.