In Between the Stillness and the Ache

Some days I feel whole on my own.
I wake up, stretch into the silence, sip my tea, and feel no absence. No need. No yearning. Just me, and that feels like enough.

Other days, the quiet feels too loud.
I crave a voice beside mine, a body across the room, someone to laugh with in the nothing moments. Not because I’m empty… but because I remember what it felt like to be known in that way.

Grief is strange.
It doesn’t just fade or end.
It evolves. It reshapes.
And sometimes, it whispers: “You could love again.”

I don’t know what I want most days.
One moment I think I need no one.
The next, I imagine someone new, and it doesn’t feel like betrayal, just… a soft opening.

I’m not rushing toward or away from anything.
I’m just letting my heart breathe.

And if one day, someone steps in—not to fix, but to witness this version of me, I’ll be ready.
Or not.
And that’s okay too.