They ask me how I know you’re still with me

 They ask me how I know you’re still with me.

And I never know how to explain it —
how absence can still feel like presence,
how silence can hum with memory.

Some nights, I dream of a place where the grass glows from within.
Where every soul that ever loved waits in quiet joy.
Where tails wag not out of need,
but out of the simple truth that love never left.

That’s what Forever Fields are to me.
Not a story we tell to soften the ache,
but a whisper of what our hearts already know —
that love is made of energy too strong to end.

I picture you there, whole and light again.
Chasing butterflies that never tire,
resting under skies that never dim.
Sometimes I feel your warmth brush past me,
and I know — you still find ways to visit.

Maybe that’s why rainbows appear when we need them most.
Why sunsets feel like doorways.
Why our hearts tug softly toward the unseen.

Because the bond we built wasn’t made of earth —
it was made of forever.

And one day, when my time here is done,
I’ll walk into that field too.
You’ll run toward me, tail wagging,
and in that moment, every heartbeat, every tear, every memory will make sense.

That’s why we believe.