The Weight of an Empty Chair

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Date: 14 May 2025

There is something haunting about an empty chair. Especially when it once held someone whose presence filled the entire room. It’s not about the furniture. It’s about the void it echoes.

I remember my father’s chair—brown, weathered, with his shape almost molded into the cushions. It creaked under his weight, just like the world creaked under his quiet strength. After he left, we never moved it. The chair remained. It was not just his seat; it became our memory keeper.

We all have that one absence that weighs more than any presence. The one that walks with us in silent rooms and sits beside us during long meals. It could be a person, a friendship, a phase of life, or even a version of ourselves we left behind. Their memory is not always sad—sometimes it comforts, like an old melody we forgot we loved.

It’s okay to acknowledge that emptiness. It’s okay to touch the back of the chair and remember. The pain doesn’t dishonor the love—it amplifies it. If you still feel that weight, it only means what once existed was truly valuable.

So today, if you walk past an empty chair, pause for a moment. It might just be carrying a story the world still needs to hear.

Rajat Chandra Sarmah

Guwahati, Assam, India

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