The very thought turns my muscles into immune-disordered nightmares where I can't move.

I forget how to breathe because you have always been my oxygen,

And I'd have to be intubated to live without you.

I'd be at a loss for the every days and the way you'd say my name.

I'd miss the emojis I've only seen you use and the way you open up to me about your pain.

"I'm free with you," you’d say.

But then you'd be gone, carrying the memories of Galtymore in your chest,

freer than you'd ever been with me,

outward—because I know this ache will linger,

like the last weeks of winter,

freezing memories in my chest,

like the snowflakes that made me fall.

I’ll remember the loss,

cherish the time we had,

and let it make me stronger—

a better person than before—

knowing you changed me.

The thought of your voice,

soft as the wind on Galtymore’s peaks,

inspires me to grow—

like the heart you carry,

so vast inside your chest.

I hope I linger in your thoughts,

a quiet echo you return to—

if you ever feel ready