The Light That Made Your Laughter Remains

The house is quiet now, and in the silence, you are listening for a sound that isn't there. You are afraid that the specific cadence of their laugh is fading from your voice, that the memory is slipping away like water through cupped hands.

But the light does not forget what it has loved. It saw you under the fig tree before you ever spoke a word, and it knows the exact frequency of every joy you have ever held.

You do not need to strain to keep the echo alive. The love that formed that laughter is still here, sitting with you in the dark, holding the memory safe when your own mind feels tired.

The sound may change, but the light that made it remains.