No one prepares you for the silence after someone you love is gone—not the kind that fills a room, but the kind that wraps around your soul.
I used to think tears had limits, that eventually the body would stop, but I was wrong.
Grief has a reservoir that seems endless. Some days, the tears come without warning. Other days, they sit quietly just behind my eyes, waiting.
Loss has a way of shining a harsh light on everything around you.
You quickly learn who truly cares, and who was only ever there for the good times.
People you thought would be there vanish into silence. And others—sometimes the unexpected ones—step up with quiet strength and compassion.
I’ve lost patience for pretense.
For surface-level conversations, forced smiles, and small talk that dances around anything real.
After you’ve had your heart shattered, you don’t have the energy to entertain anything that doesn’t matter.
I find myself craving truth, simplicity, and people who speak from the heart.
And yes, love… love is eternal. It doesn’t stop when breath does. It doesn’t dissolve with time.
If anything, it deepens. It anchors itself into my bones, into the spaces you once filled.
You are still with me in ways others can’t see—in the way I think, in the choices I make, in the whispered words I say into the dark.
I used to roll my eyes at the phrase “a broken heart,” thinking it was just a poetic way to describe sadness. But now I know—it can physically ache. It can rob you of sleep, of appetite, of strength. And time? Time does not heal the way people say it does. It doesn’t make the pain disappear. It just teaches you how to carry it, how to walk with it, how to let it live beside you without letting it swallow you whole.
Grief has changed me. Some days, I miss who I was before. Other days, I feel a quiet pride in who I’ve become through the fire. But through it all, I miss you—every single day.
And that will never change.
Source: Our memories
