Held When Hands Forget Your Name

The house is quiet now, but your heart is still racing through the rooms of who they used to be. You are watching the person you love disappear behind a glass that keeps getting thicker, and you are screaming on the inside while the silence grows.

The light does not ask you to understand this vanishing. It does not demand that you fix the memory or fight the fade.

It simply sits with you in the dark, closer than the grief, warmer than the fear. There is a peace waiting for you that does not require the storm to end first.

You are held even when their hands no longer know your name. The love between you was never stored in their mind—it was written on a stone only the light can read, and that name has not been forgotten.