I tell myself I will move on, there is a love somewhere in the world that will know how to find me, a love that will feel safe and strong. I repeat this to myself like a promise I am trying to teach my own heart to believe.
And yet, somehow, you are always there.
You visit me in the quiet moment between sleep and waking, when the world is still quiet and the light is soft. In that fragile space, before reason returns, my first thought is of you. I wonder if you are alright. If you slept. If somewhere in your morning there is even the faintest echo of me. Can you hear me wake? Does your soul hear me say good morning?
You appear again in the middle of the day, in the most ordinary moments. When I pass a place we once stood, when a song drifts through the air. I do not invite the memories. They simply arrive, as if my heart still keeps the door open for you without asking my permission.
And at night, when the world grows quiet again and there is nowhere left to run from my thoughts, I whisper a prayer for you. For your peace, your healing, your happiness, wherever life has carried you.
Will I spend the rest of my days carrying you gently in my memory—
a love that once felt like home, now buried in the quiet places of my soul?
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