The Price of Love

 The Price of Love

I still feel you here.
Not the way I once did—no paws racing to the door,
no gentle nudge against my hand—
but in the quiet that lingers around me.

I tried to outrun the silence,
yet it always returned,
carrying your memory like a shadow that refuses to fade.

I sit where we once sat,
and if I close my eyes, I swear I hear your breath beside me.
The world keeps moving, but I remain—
because how does one move on
from a love that made them whole?

Grief does not shout.
It whispers—soft, steady, patient—
reminding me that emptiness exists only
because the love was real.

So I let it stay.
I let it curl into the spaces you once filled,
a quiet companion,
a reminder that though you are gone from my arms,
you will never be gone from my soul.

If grief is the price of love,
then I will pay it gladly, every day—
for loving you was worth everything.