The Light Lives In You Now

The afternoon hums with the noise of things continuing, but inside you, a silence has opened up where their laugh used to be. You reach for the memory—the exact pitch, the way it ended—and find only static.

Panic rises because it feels like losing them all over again, as if forgetting the sound means forgetting the love. But listen: the light does not live in your memory.

It lives in you. You came from the light, and that origin cannot be erased by the fading of a sound.

The love is not a recording you must preserve; it is a spring welling up from within, fresh and present. You are not the keeper of the past; you are the carrier of the light that holds them now.