It hits me in the gentle hours

 It hits me

in the gentle hours…

After the lights turn off,
after the world stops asking me to be strong,
after the tears finally win.

That’s when I feel you most.

Not as fur beneath my palm,
or the jingle of your collar,
but as a calm that melts the ache
just enough for me to breathe.

You used to curl against me
with quiet trust.
Now you curl
into the spaces between heartbeats.

Some might call it memory.
I call it visitation.

Because love doesn’t disappear—
it whispers.

You’re here
in the soft creak of the floor,
and the warmth that shouldn’t exist
on the side of the bed
that’s supposed to be empty.

You’re here
each time the silence feels
like a hug
instead of a wound.

One day
I’ll see you again
with eyes that understand heaven.

But until then—
stay with me like this.
Gentle.
Silent.
Closer than quiet.