Do you hear me? God, I hope you do. I hope you’re somewhere—anywhere—because the thought of you just being… gone, like you never existed, like you’re just a name carved into stone and nothing more… I can’t accept that. I won’t. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to move forward when every step feels like leaving you further behind. Like I’m supposed to let you fade, supposed to let the memories slip away, but I can’t. I don’t want to. Was there something I should’ve said? Something I should’ve done? Would it have made a difference? Would you still be here if I had just— No… no, I know. I know it’s useless to ask. I’ll never get an answer. But I ask anyway. I always do. Because the silence after is the only thing I have left of you. I keep waiting for something—a sign, a whisper, even just a feeling that you’re still here somehow. But there’s nothing. Just the rain, the wind, the cold. It’s all so damn quiet without you. Did you know how much you meant to me? Did I ever tell you enough? I should have. I should have said it a thousand times. And the worst part? I couldn’t fix it. I couldn’t fix you. I tried—I swear, I tried. But it wasn’t enough, was it? I wasn’t enough. I’ve spent every night since wondering what I missed, what I could’ve done differently. Maybe there was nothing. Maybe this was always how it was going to end. But I can’t stop thinking… what if it wasn’t? All I have left of you are… things. Just things. Your shirt, the one that still smells like you, but less and less every day. A hairbrush, with strands of your hair still tangled in the bristles. A few notes, scribbled in your handwriting—so familiar it hurts to look at them. But none of it is you. None of it is your voice, your laugh, your warmth. I keep them close anyway. Like they’ll somehow make up for the space you left behind. Like they’ll fill the hollow in my chest where you used to be. But they don’t. Nothing does. I just… I don’t know how to carry this without you. And I don’t know if I want to. I’ve got your voice, your laughter, caught in old recordings. Videos, too—just little snippets of you. I watch them, listen to them, over and over. But it’s not the same. It never is. It’s not you standing here with me, not your hand on my shoulder, not the warmth of your breath. It’s just… static, just a screen. And the pictures—some of them are blurry, some out of frame, just glimpses of you caught by accident. But I cherish them anyway. Because even out of focus, it’s still you. And you’ve become so rare now. You don’t exist anymore, not in the way you should. So I hold onto every last piece, even the imperfect ones, because they’re all I have left. I keep thinking... if I could just lie down, close my eyes, and let everything go… It would be easier, wouldn’t it? Just to give up, to fade away like you did. But I can’t. I can’t let myself do it. I have to keep going, even when it feels like I’m being pulled under. Because someone has to remember. Someone has to carry your memory. And that someone is me. I’m the custodian of your memories now. As long as I live, so do you. And maybe someday, thousands of years from now, none of this will matter. The world will wind down, the cities will crumble, and every name, every story, every single thing will be lost to time. Maybe no one will remember you. Maybe history will never even know you were here. But I will. I do. And when my time comes, I get to die knowing, for a fact, that you existed on this earth. That you were real. That is official. And no force in the universe can take that away from me. I told you, didn’t I? In life, I told you—'You are loved.' And I know you lived knowing that. I know you died knowing that. But even now, I feel like I have to say it again. Like maybe you never really heard it. Like maybe, somehow, I didn’t say it enough. But I did. I know I did. And still, I say it again, like an echo I can’t quiet. You are loved. You are loved. You are loved. #cemetary, #daz3d, #fog, #render, #Valentine's day,