Quotes About Absence

All I can think about is what she must be doing, and how I wish she were still here.

I hate checking my phone, and not seeing your name pop up anymore.

I havent talked to you in months but that doesnt mean you dont cross my mind every single day...

If nothing lasts for ever, will you be my nothing?

An escapists' life is summarized by one word; RUN.

When my absence does not alter your life. Then my presence has no meaning in it.

Perhaps it is the greatest grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone.

But all I felt was the coolness against my ankle, where his fingers had been a moment before.

The room turned gray, then white. The bed felt cold without him, and too large. I heard no sounds, and the stillness frightened me. It is like a tomb. I rose and rubbed my limbs, slapped them awake, trying to ward off a rising hysteria. This is what it will be, every day, without him. I felt a wild-eyed tightness in my chest, like a scream. Every day, without him.

The space beside me on the bed was empty, but the pillow still held the shape of him, and the sheets smelled of us both.

Du trauerst nicht um deinen Vater? - Doch. Ich betrauere, dass ich nie den Vater kennengelernt habe, von dem mir alle erzählen.

It is like a tomb. This is what it will be, every day, without him.

A mio padre non è mai riuscito di immaginare il mondo privo della sua presenza.

And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth while another is gone.

Do you always talk to pigs when I am gone?

And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone

How often I've imagined the bubble of body and breath you and I made, even though by now I can hardly remember what you look like, I can hardly see your face.

She sits there and feels the loneliness and the lack of him

But there is nothing. A high whine of nothing, like the absence of noise when a church bell falls silent.

Do you still think of her, do you still catch yourself listening for her footsteps, for the sound of her breathing at night, because I do, all the time. I still think that one day I might wake and she will be there, next to me, again; there will have been some wrinkle or pleat in time and we will be back to where we were, when she was living and breathing.

Every life has its kernel, its hub, its epicenter, from which everything flows out, to which everything returns. This moment is the absent mother's.

Here is a season Hamnet has not known or touched. Here is a world moving on without him.

Esme is thinking about the hard thing. The difficult one. She does this only rarely. But sometimes she gets the urge and today is one of those days when she seems to see Hugo. In the corner of her eye, a small shape crawling through the shadow in the lee of a door, the space beneath the bed. Or she can hear the pitch of his voice in a chair scraped across the floor. There's no knowing how he might choose to be with her.

Partings are strange. It seems so simple: one minute ago, four, five, he was here, at her side; now, he is gone. She was with him; she is alone.