11/27/2025
I never understood how deeply love could settle itself
into the human heart
until the day I lost you.
People say time heals,
but I don’t think that’s exactly true.
Time doesn’t erase the ache—
it teaches us how to hold it.
How to breathe with it.
How to carry it
without breaking under the weight.
Because losing you
didn’t take you away from me.
It just placed you somewhere quieter,
somewhere deeper,
somewhere I never thought to look before—
Inside my heartbeat.
Every once in a while,
I press my palm against my chest
and close my eyes.
And in that warm, steady rhythm,
I feel something familiar—
like the echo of your joy,
the softness of your presence,
the memory of your paw resting on my knee.
It’s strange,
how our bodies remember the ones we loved.
How their comfort becomes a part of us,
stitched into our breath,
threaded into our pulse,
living quietly beneath our ribs.
You walked beside me for years,
but somehow your biggest footprints
landed inside me—
in the places where love becomes life,
where grief becomes tenderness,
where memory becomes heartbeat.
I think that’s why you never feel far.
Because you’re not.
You’re right here—
in the thud that keeps me moving,
in the hush between breaths,
in the warmth that rises
when I speak your name into the quiet.
You left pawprints on my floor,
on my blankets,
on my favorite memories…
but the ones in my pulse
are the ones that stayed.
And when the day comes
far down the road
when my own heartbeat slows
and quiets
and softens—
I like to think yours will be the first rhythm
I hear again.
A joyful thumping,
a familiar warmth,
a reunion written in love.
Until then, my sweet soul,
keep living inside my pulse.
I’ll listen for you
every single day.
