I let it stand, a small, quiet anomaly in an otherwise ordered world. Over time, it stopped feeling like a threat to reality and started feeling like a reminder.
Not that she was still here—but that what we shared hadn’t evaporated just because her body was gone.
Grief isn’t about forgetting.
It’s about learning a new language for love.
And sometimes that language speaks when you least expect it—through memory, through coincidence, through a line item on a bank statement that refuses to behave.
What Remains
I still get notifications.
Most of them mean nothing.
But every so often, one makes me pause—not because it breaks the rules of the world, but because it reminds me that the world was never as simple as I thought.
Love leaves impressions.
Lives overlap in ways that don’t always resolve neatly.
And endings, like beginnings, are rarely as clear as we imagine.
The story I thought had ended didn’t reopen.
It just learned how to speak differently.
And somehow, that has been enough.
