Sometimes

 Sometimes…

it catches me off guard.
That feeling.
Like you’re still there.
Not in the way the world would understand…
but in the quiet places
where memory and love feel the same.
I’ll sit down…
or lie back…
and for a second—
I feel it.
The gentle weight of you.
Not heavy…
just enough to remind me
you used to be right there.
Your head resting across my lap…
your body pressed close against mine…
the way you trusted me completely
without needing anything in return.
It was never just physical.
It was comfort.
It was closeness.
It was the kind of presence
that made everything else fade away.
And now…
that space is empty.
But somehow…
my body hasn’t forgotten.
It still makes room for you.
Still adjusts…
like you’re about to settle in again
the way you always did.
And sometimes…
in those small, quiet moments…
it almost feels real.
Like if I just stay still long enough…
you won’t disappear.
Because that feeling—
that weight—
it never truly left.
It just became softer.
Something I can’t hold anymore…
but can still sense
in ways I can’t explain.
Maybe that’s what love does
when it doesn’t know how to leave.
It stays in the places
where you once felt it the most.
In the way your body remembers.
In the way your heart refuses
to let go of something so real.
And I think…
I’m learning not to fight it.
Not to question it.
Just to sit with it…
to let it be what it is.
Because even if it’s only for a moment…
I get to feel you again.
Close.
Familiar.
Right where you always belonged.
And one day…
when this distance fades…
I won’t have to hold onto echoes anymore.
I’ll feel your weight again…
not as memory…
but as something real…
resting beside me…
just like before.