The Love I Lost

The Love I Lost My wish is to give peace, comfort, and hope to those on earth grieving the loss of a loved one.
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The fog wraps soft around two shapes that stand,a fading outline, almost hand in hand.Birds drift above in patterns soft...
06/24/2026

The fog wraps soft around two shapes that stand,

a fading outline, almost hand in hand.

Birds drift above in patterns soft and slow,

while everything below turns white as snow.
I carry what we were inside my chest,

into the person I'm becoming, less by less.

I can't quite see you in this misty haze,

but I still feel you through my changing days.
Deep in my heart, I hold a quiet faith

that love like ours leaves more than just a wraith.

You're somewhere in the fog I'm walking through,

in every step I take that leads me to
a version of myself shaped partly by your hand,

a softer kind of strength I understand.

I can't see you, but I don't need sight

to know you're walking with me toward the light.
So I'll keep moving through this misty air,

becoming someone shaped by love and care.

I carry what we were, and always will,

deep in my heart, where you are with me still.
— The Love I Lost

The rain comes down in sheets across the dark,a wooden cross stands lonely, cold, and stark.A raven perches there throug...
06/23/2026

The rain comes down in sheets across the dark,

a wooden cross stands lonely, cold, and stark.

A raven perches there through wind and sleet,

the kind of storm that makes the whole sky weep.
When grief storms hit, they hit without a warning,

they soak the night and bleed into the morning.

I've learned by now I'll never get past this,

some kind of love just doesn't end with a kiss.
But even storms, no matter how they pour,

eventually quiet, even at their core.

The thunder fades, the rain begins to slow,

and somehow, through it, I have learned to go.
I'm not over you, I never will be whole

the way I was before grief took its toll.

But I have learned to walk through wind and rain,

carrying your name through every kind of pain.
The raven waits until the storm has passed,

the cross stands steady, built to outlast.

I'll stand here too, through every storm that's thrown,

because I've learned to get through, not alone.
— The Love I Lost

The lake lies still beneath a heavy mist,holding every name I never got to list.Bare branches lean above the water's fac...
06/23/2026

The lake lies still beneath a heavy mist,

holding every name I never got to list.

Bare branches lean above the water's face,

mirrored twice in this quiet, gray-lit place.
Grief isn't just the sadness that I wear

through daylight hours, through the empty air.

It follows close when night begins to fall,

and finds me even when I don't recall.
It slips into the dreams I try to keep,

turning rest into another kind of weep.

I wake up tired from a sleep that gave no peace,

from sorrow that refuses to decrease.
The fog won't lift no matter how I try,

it just hangs low beneath this heavy sky.

I walk these shores alone, my breath like smoke,

carrying a weight that grief alone evoked.
But still I stand here, watching water still,

learning slow that grief moves at its will.

Even in my dreams, I'll carry you somehow,

loving you in fog, in night, in now.
— The Love I Lost

Your silver wristwatch is still sitting on the desk,its small second hand frozen exactly at four o'clock.I haven't moved...
06/23/2026

Your silver wristwatch is still sitting on the desk,
its small second hand frozen exactly at four o'clock.
I haven't moved it or wound the spring since that morning,
fearing I might erase the last rhythm you left behind.

The leather strap is worn thin where it met your wrist,
darkened slightly by the oil of your skin over the years.
I can still hear the dry scrape of your thumb against the dial
whenever you were thinking hard or waiting for the rain to clear.

People tell me to pack up these small tokens of what was,
saying it isn't healthy to live inside a museum of ghosts.
They talk about tomorrow as if it were a clean sheet of paper,
waiting to be written on by someone else's hands.

But my affection has outlived the ticking of the gears.
It does not require a moving hand to keep its own time;
it continues to accumulate quietly in this still room,
running parallel to a world that keeps rushing past.

It is not that the days have lost their symmetry or light.
It is that no other hour can be divided the way ours were,
and no other presence can cast a shadow quite so heavy,
or fit the precise contour of the space you used to occupy.

The glass stays cracked.
A cold draft is moving under the doorframe.
I leave the watch exactly where you laid it.
The sun is beginning to go down now.

— The Love I Lost

I sit here on the sand where waves meet shore,the same gray water that I've watched before.The birds fly off in lines ag...
06/23/2026

I sit here on the sand where waves meet shore,

the same gray water that I've watched before.

The birds fly off in lines against the haze,

while I stay still, lost in these quiet days.
Mom, sometimes I just sit and stare ahead,

forgetting for a breath the words once said.

It hits me slow, the way the tide comes in,

that you are gone, and grief begins again.
I wrap my arms around my knees out here,

the way you used to hold me, near and dear.

The ocean doesn't ask me to explain

why some days feel like endless, quiet rain.
I miss your voice the most when mornings come,

the empty kitchen where you'd hum.

I miss my mom in every wave that breaks,

in every quiet shore my heart still aches.
So I'll keep sitting here, this child inside,

watching water pull, then turn, then slide.

I miss my mom, more than these words can say,

I'll carry you with me, every single day.
— The Love I Lost

You know that moment when the morning light hits the floorboardsand you expect to hear the kettle sliding across the sto...
06/23/2026

You know that moment when the morning light hits the floorboards
and you expect to hear the kettle sliding across the stove.
Instead there is only the flat glare of a winter sun
cutting through a room that feels too large to inhabit.

A single white feather drifted onto the rug this morning,
spinning slowly in the draft from the hallway door.
I picked it up and held it against my palm,
noting how little weight it takes to occupy a home.

People keep bringing casseroles and soft words to the porch,
wishing me a comfort that feels entirely manufactured.
They think a house can be refilled with noise,
as if any voice could mimic the specific cadence of yours.

But my devotion does not end where your skin stopped.
It has settled deep into the grain of the drywall,
running like an invisible current through the empty hallway,
unchanged by the fact that you can no longer answer.

I have met gentle people since the day you left.
They are gentle in shapes that do not belong to me.
None of them can fit the sharp silhouette of your absence,
which remains the only geometry I care to know.

It just floats.
The dust motes gather in the sunbeam.
I left the feather on the table by the door.
The door remains locked from the inside.

— The Love I Lost

I stood beneath the pine trees tonightand looked for you where the air grows thin.The forest path carries a scent of dam...
06/23/2026

I stood beneath the pine trees tonight
and looked for you where the air grows thin.
The forest path carries a scent of damp earth and cold,
but it no longer carries the sound of your quiet breath.

The canopy parts into a deep blue clearing
where the branches cannot reach each other anymore.
I watched a red cardinal cut through the branches,
a single streak of fire against a sky that has frozen over.

Everyone else talks about moving forward into the light,
as if the dark is something we are supposed to outgrow.
They do not understand how a person can live out here,
counting the miles between the dirt and the constellations.

But my affection is not a thing that requires your physical weight,
it has simply adjusted its posture to face the open sky.
The love I have for you has become an unspoken language,
vibrating in the space between the tree line and the clouds.

It is not that the universe has run out of beautiful things.
It is that none of them are arranged the way yours were,
and no other hand can trace the geography of this specific quiet.
You left an imprint that reshaped the entire woods.

The night stays cold.
The gravel under my boots is perfectly still.
I keep looking up at the treeline.
I do not think the bird is coming back down.

— The Love I Lost

Your winter coat still hangs in the back of the closet,carrying the faint scent of salt air and laundry soap.I sat on th...
06/23/2026

Your winter coat still hangs in the back of the closet,
carrying the faint scent of salt air and laundry soap.
I sat on the cold sand today where the tide line ebbs,
watching the grey water pull the shore into the sea.

A few stray seagulls circle over the white foam,
their cries sounding thin against the crash of the surf.
A small child in a dark jacket sits alone near the edge,
staring out at the horizon where the fog meets the water.

The world keeps insisting that time will blur the edges,
that the memory of your face will soften into something manageable.
They speak of closure as if it were a place you could walk to,
a finish line at the end of a long, exhausting road.

But my love has simply taken the shape of this shoreline.
It stays behind long after the high tide has receded,
carving deep grooves into the landscape of my ordinary days,
entirely independent of whether you can return to fill them.

The world is full of vast and open spaces today.
But none of them hold the particular warmth of your shoulder,
and the ocean is just an immense accumulation of water
that cannot wash away the specific way you said my name.

The waves crash.
The wet sand is sinking under my weight.
The child has not moved from the shore.
The mist is coming in fast now.

— The Love I Lost

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New York, NY

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