09/02/2026
I don’t know how to write this without my hands shaking.
So I’ll just start where the truth is.
I miss you.
In ways that don’t fit into sentences.
In ways that catch me off guard when I’m doing nothing at all.
I miss the sound of you breathing at night.
That soft rhythm that told me I wasn’t alone,
even when the world felt heavy.
I miss how you knew my footsteps,
how you lifted your head before I ever spoke your name.
How you belonged to my life like it was written somewhere long before we met.
This house still knows you.
There’s a quiet pause in every room,
as if it’s waiting for you to walk back in and make it whole again.
Your toy is still under the couch.
I can’t bring myself to move it.
Some part of me believes that if everything stays the same,
you’ll find your way back to it…
and to me.
I carry guilt like a second shadow.
Did I do enough?
Did you know how deeply you were loved?
I hope you felt it in every gentle touch,
every whispered promise,
every time I chose you without hesitation.
If love could have saved you,
you would have lived forever.
Some nights, I talk to you out loud.
Not because I think you’re gone—
but because I feel you listening.
In the quiet.
In the still moments when my heart softens just enough to breathe again.
I like to imagine you curled somewhere peaceful now,
whole and free,
watching over me with the same devotion you always gave.
They say there’s a place where pain can’t follow.
Where bodies don’t ache and hearts don’t break.
If that place exists, I know you’re there—
running, resting, being exactly who you were meant to be.
And I believe, with everything I have left,
that one day this letter will turn into a conversation.
A reunion.
A moment where no words are needed at all.
Until then, this is my letter of feeling.
Written in love.
Sealed with tears.
Carried by hope.
You are not gone.
You are everywhere I am. 🐾
