Liminalz - a home for hearts in transition

 

One Year Without You

It’s been a year.
A whole year without you.

And I still don’t know how to live in a world that doesn’t have you in it.
Every day, I feel the emptiness in conversations that stop mid-thought, in jokes that never get shared, in small victories that don’t feel like victories because you’re not here to see them.

I miss you in everything, in my sadness, in my anger, in my laughter.
I miss you when I’m cooking, when I’m watching a show and want to tell you what just happened, when something goes wrong at work and I need to vent, or when something goes right and I want to say, “See, I told you so.”

You were my person, my mirror, my best friend, my everything. And without you, everything feels off-balance. Life goes on, but I don’t. Not really. I move, I work, I laugh sometimes but it all feels like pretending.

The nights are the hardest. The dreams come, and in them, you’re alive. 
You talk, you smile, you look at me just like before. It feels so real that for a few seconds after waking, I almost believe you’re still here and then the truth hits again, and the pain comes back like a wave I can never outrun.

They say time heals. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it just teaches you to carry the ache more quietly.
I still talk to you in my head. I still tell you about my day. I still wait for the part where you smile and say something funny, or roll your eyes, or tell me it’ll be okay.

It’s not okay, and maybe it never will be.
But I carry you with me in my thoughts, in my choices, in the spaces you once filled with your voice.

I miss you terribly.
Every moment, every breath, every day.