Raw.Real.Recovered.

I know—minute by minute, hour by hour—the sharp edge of your absence will dull.

I know the tight knots in my stomach when your face flashes through my mind won’t stay forever.

Someday, I’ll think of you and it’ll feel more like a memory than a wound.

Grieving someone who’s still alive—who still breathes, still walks this earth—is its own kind of heartbreak.

It’s the kind that haunts quietly.

Because their energy still lingers.

You can still feel it.

Even though you haven’t heard their voice in days,

Even though their arms haven’t held you in weeks,

They’re still here.

Just not here.

But that ache? It fades.

The silence stops screaming eventually.

And the longing loses its grip.

It gets better.

It will get better.

It has to.

Because holding on to a ghost never resurrects the love.

It just keeps you from coming back to life.