The silence after the last chime

It’s 6:03 and the city is still half-asleep, but I’m already thinking about the way hospital corridors sound at this hour—like a held breath. Not quiet, exactly. Charged. Like the air remembers every whispered ‘I love you’ and every ‘we’ll talk tomorrow’ that never came. I used to walk those halls with a stethoscope and a clipboard, now I just walk with my coffee, and the silence feels heavier. Not sad. Just full. Like it’s waiting for someone to say something they’ve already said a thousand times.