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If I loved you, you would become the way I remember the world, like warmth that lingers on skin long after the sun has set. You would live in my words, in the trembling places between lines, in the ache and the soft ones that try to heal. To be loved by me is to be everywhere without ever trying to be. You would exist in the quiet pauses I leave between thoughts, in the sentences I almost say but let fall into silence instead. Not because I choose to keep you there, but because once you are in me, you spill into everything I create, like something that has learned my shape and refuses to forget it. There will be no version of my creations that does not carry you. Even when time loosens its hold on us, you remain in my words, not just as memory, but as the essence itself, something that rewrites everything I touch. And even when I am no longer here to write, even when you are no longer there to read, you linger like a story the world keeps telling without us. M. | muse & ink May 2026


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Perhaps the part of what's frightening me is not only the pain I'm feeling now. It's also the pain I'm not feeling. I keep looking at that wall and wondering what it's holding back. If this is how much I hurt with it still standing, what happens if it comes down? The thought follows me everywhere. It sits beside me at work. It waits for me in the quiet. It gnaws at whatever sanity I have left. But what if my mind is not storing all of this grief behind a dam waiting to burst? What if it is already doing what minds are designed to do? What if it is carrying the weight the same way a river carries rain. Not all at once, but as it comes. A little when I cried during my lunch break. A little when a song catches me off guard. A little when I am alone with my coffee and there is no one to distract me from myself. A little when a memory drifts across my mind without warning. Perhaps the wall is not hiding a flood. Perhaps it is simply teaching the water how to pass through me without drowning me. Not all at once. Just enough for today. M. June 2026

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Father's Day always arrives carrying two versions of time. One tells me it has been eleven years. The other tells me it was only yesterday. I have lived entire chapters of my life without you. I have grown older. I have become someone you never got the chance to meet. There are stories I still wish I could tell you. Small things. Important things. Ordinary things that somehow matter because they happened to me. And every Father's Day, I find myself reaching across a distance that cannot be crossed. I wonder what you would think of the person I am now. I wonder if you would be proud. I hope you would be. I hope you would see how hard I have tried. How I kept going on days when I wanted to stop. How I carried the lessons you left behind, even when I was afraid, I might forget the sound of your voice. The truth is, I still miss you. Not only in the big moments. Not only in the milestones. I miss you in the quiet parts of life. When something good happens and I wish I could tell you. When something hurts and I wish I could hear you say my name. When I see fathers and daughters together and feel that familiar ache return. Eleven years later, love has not disappeared. It has simply changed shape. It lives now in memories. In photographs. In stories. In the person I became because you were once here. And today, more than anything, I hope you knew how much you were loved. Happy Father's Day, Dad. I miss you still. And I think I always will. M. 21 June 2026

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