I still make space for you

 I still make space for you…

without even realizing it sometimes.

There’s still room beside my bed where you used to sleep.
Still a pause before I close the bathroom door,
like I’m waiting for you to follow me in one more time.

Your bowl stayed in the corner longer than anyone understood.
Not because I forgot to move it…

But because my heart wasn’t ready to admit you wouldn’t need it again.

Grief lives in habits like that.

In the small spaces love once filled so naturally
that the body keeps remembering long after goodbye.

I still leave room for you in conversations too.

I still say “we” instead of “me.”
Still think about whether you would’ve liked certain parks,
certain sunny days,
certain car rides with the windows down.

You became part of how I existed in this world.

And when you left,
the spaces didn’t disappear.

They just became quieter.

But maybe that’s okay.

Maybe love isn’t meant to vanish neatly after loss.
Maybe some souls leave permanent places behind inside us.

So if part of me still waits for your footsteps…
still glances toward the doorway…
still makes space beside my heart for you every single day…

It’s because loving you changed the shape of my life forever.

And honestly…

I don’t think I ever want that space filled by anything else.