How is my heart to heal when the world insists on spelling your name in every corner of my day? The morning light falls across the kitchen table the way it used to catch in your hair. A stranger smiles at me in church, and for a breathless second, they look like you — warm, familiar. I turn, already smiling, already softening… and then it hits me.
It can’t be you.
What lingers instead is the ghost of you. Not haunting in the cruel sense, but constant - woven into the air I breathe, stitched into the quiet spaces between thoughts. You visit me in memories, I never meant to memorize: the softness in your voice when the world felt loud.
Every day carries you like a shadow just behind me. I move forward, but you follow in the echo of my steps.
They say time teaches the heart to let go. But mine still reaches for yours.
Will your eyes always linger at the edge of my memory? Your smile, in the echoes of my heart?
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