Not even remotely

Do I miss her? Not even remotely.

Her laugh, too loud, would shock the room,
A poor-judged word spoken too soon.
She left her books in crooked stacks,
Her shoes overflowed their tidy rack.
And God, how she'd hum that endless tune.

Her coffee sharp, her mornings late,
She'd blame me for her confused state.
The way she’d talk through every show,
And somehow always seemed to know
Exactly where my patience broke.

Now the silence stays so long,
Mornings pass without her song.
Space is neat; no cluttered mess,
All echoes of her absentness.
Do I miss her? Not even remotely.

Yet years have passed, and growing still,
She's more remote than time can fill.