There is a day that does not pass,
it only circles back,
soft-footed,
unannounced.
I have learned not to fight it.
It arrives in small ways
in the silence between breaths,
in the way light rests on empty spaces
as if it remembers
what once belonged there.
I still imagine you
in outlines I cannot complete
a voice just beyond sound,
a presence I almost reach
until the moment breaks
like thin glass in my hands.
Something in me shifted that day
not loudly,
not all at once
but deep enough
that even time
could not smooth its edges.
I have carried it since
this quiet, unspoken weight,
this tenderness that aches
without asking permission.
And though the world kept moving,
I learned a different rhythm
one where loss breathes beside me,
not as an enemy,
but as a shadow
that knows my name.
Some things are never buried.
They simply become part of you
woven into your pulse,
hidden in your strength,
resting in the spaces
you no longer try to fill.
And so today, again,
I do not say goodbye.
I just remember;
gently, honestly,
as one remembers
a piece of their own soul
they had to leave behind.
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