Held Without Fear

oom, but the silence he left in me. A silence that hums

ad a routine. Then came the snacks-crackers, cereal, anything I didn't have to think too hard about. I told myself I wa

wasn't hungry for food-I was hungry for comfort. And food never walked away. It

laugh echoing in my head, the way he used to tease me about how I dipped my fries in milkshak

e," he said. "That way i

unt to three, and take a bite. He'd smile

ory became ritual. And

melt the ache. No hot meal could reheat a col

thing: "You'll move on." "You'll

nding. The nights when your chest feels too tight but you smile anyway. The weigh

2 a.m., the ones where he called me his peace, his person, his future. I reread the silly voice notes, the way he'd hum songs

y goodbye, but feels like it. Just silence after it. A kin

ut somehow, letting go of those messages feels like

't wait to see you in person." His eyes sparkle with a hope that makes my chest tighten. He meant it. I know h

ly like him-warm, musky, safe. Sometimes I take it out and just hold it,

er on the other end. My thumb hovers over his name, my chest tight with words I'll never sen

ranger, a meme I know he'd find funny, a movie we promised we'd watch together. It's in my laugh when I catch myself sounding like I used to around him. It's when I make co

ushes past you when you least expect it. It lives in

smell something on the wind-his cologne, maybe, or something that reminds me of the place we once planned to visit-and sudd

songs on the radio. But sometimes, when I'm alone, I let one play. Just one. And I

out it. When the sky turns pink and I want to send him a picture, just to say, "This reminded me of

n't supposed to

ybe healing begins when you stop trying to

now, I pay attentio

ings again, maybe-just maybe-I can learn