The Slow Leaving Poem by ashok jadhav

Love did not leave all at once.
It thinned, the way light does at dusk,
softly enough that I kept believing
morning would return.
Your laughter grew careful, then rare.
Our words shortened, learned to avoid
the places where we once lived freely.
I stayed, counting what was left.
There was no moment I could point to—
only a series of almosts and not-quites,
until love became something we remembered
more than something we shared.
Watching love fade is a quieter grief:
no door slammed, no final sound.
Just the slow understanding
that I am still here,
and you have already gone.