Today, I opened that box again—the one filled with the fragments of a life that no longer exists.
And somewhere between these faded photographs and trembling hands, I realized something: time steals people, but photographs refuse to let them disappear completely.
In one picture, your eyes still shine like nothing bad could ever happen.
In another, you’re smiling so naturally that for a moment, my heart forgot you were gone.
I traced the edges of every photo like I could somehow pull you back into this world.
But all I found were countless days we never got to live together.
The tears blurred your face, yet somehow the ache became clearer.
People say, “make your days count,” but no one tells you how to survive the days that feel hollow without them.
So I hold these memories close, even when they hurt—because they are the only pieces of you that time couldn’t steal.
You’re still my favorite story.
Even if the ending was written in shadows.
