Another day passes, and the pain is no longer there. In its place, there is only emptiness.

I still miss you, but somehow, I no longer feel the weight of it. It is as though grief has exhausted itself and left nothing behind but a hollow space.

I wander through my days without much purpose, moving forward simply because time continues to move.

I still wish to see you. But slowly, reluctantly, I am beginning to accept what reality has become.

I try not to look at your pictures, though somehow my hands always find their way back to them. You appear in my thoughts without warning, in a song, a street, a certain light, the smallest and most ordinary things.

I cannot move on. Not yet. You remain the one and only.

Life has returned to its ordinary rhythm: uneventful, almost colourless. The sun still shines, but it seems pale beside the light you once brought with you.

Lately, I find myself staring at the ceiling for hours, thinking of nothing at all. No grief. No agony. Not even sadness. Simply empty.

I tore pieces of myself away just to stop feeling the pain. It worked. I can function again. I can work, create, walk through the world as though nothing happened, with only that longing following somewhere behind me.

Perhaps time really does heal. But healing does not mean becoming untouched. Some wounds close while leaving behind a shape that remains beneath the skin.

And I don't think I can trust anyone with the entirety of me again, not for a long while. Perhaps that is alright.

For now, I will let the emptiness be still. I will let the days pass. And somewhere, eventually, beneath all this silence, I will find the strength to rise again. Not as the person I was before you. But as someone who survived loving you.