Title: What Remains Poem by ashok jadhav

(The speaker stands alone, clutching an object that reminds them of someone lost—a letter, a photograph, a ring. Their voice is trembling at first, then rises with anger, longing, and sorrow.)
Monologue:
I loved… I loved with everything I had.
Every heartbeat, every breath, every quiet moment…
it belonged to them.
And I thought… I thought that love was enough.
That it could hold them close, even when the world tried to pull them away.
But it wasn't enough, was it?
No. Nothing is ever enough.
They are gone. Gone from my life. Gone from my arms.
And I am left with echoes.
Echoes of laughter, whispers of promises,
shards of a life that will never be whole again.
I replay every conversation, every glance, every mistake…
searching for the moment it slipped away,
the moment I failed, the moment they chose… someone else,
or someone else chose them…
And I am haunted.
Haunted by love that could not survive,
by loss that refuses to let me breathe.
And yet… I cannot hate them.
I cannot undo what I felt.
Because love, even in its end, still shapes us.
Even in grief, even in despair…
it teaches us what it means to be human.
(Pauses, voice softening, almost a whisper.)
I loved. I lost. And I endure.
And perhaps… perhaps that is all that remains.
But it is enough to keep me alive,
even if the heart aches forever.
(The speaker lowers their gaze, holding the memory close, trembling between grief and fragile hope.)