Somewhere I Can't Go

(Somewhere I Can’t Go)

It feels like an eternity

since I last heard your voice.

Not a recording, not a dream,

but you -

soft,

alive,

mine.

I still remember

the way your fingers brushed mine

like a secret

only we were allowed to know.

The world felt quieter

when you were near -

or maybe

my soul just settled,

like it had found the place it belonged.

Now it’s loud all the time.

Not with sound,

but with absence.

With the space you left behind.

The air is to big now.

The sky stretches too far without you in it.

I have learned

how grief moves -

not in clean lines,

but in circles.

It waits for me

at the grocery store,

in the passenger seat,

in the sound of someone laughing

who doesn’t sound like you -

but almost does.

Almost is the cruelest word in the language.

I’ve tried to become someone new,

someone who lives without you -

someone who loves without you -

but every version of me

still calls your name in the dark.

I whisper it

into pillows,

into coffee cups,

into the spaces between seconds

where your memory still lingers

like perfume,

like the echo of a song

I used to know by heart.

To be with you in paradise…

I would give everything.

My voice,

my rambles,

my memories,

this whole aching body.

I would hand over every future

I’ve ever imagined

just to feel your arms around me

for one more minute.

Maybe not even that long -

maybe just enough time

to say all the things I never could

when I thought we had forever.

Why’d you have to chase the light?

Why did it call to you

when I was still holding your hand,

telling you to stay,

stay,

stay?

Did it feel like home?

Was it gentle?

Did it feel like freedom,

like breath,

like rest?

I hope so.

Even as I break here,

piece by piece,

I hope your ending here

was a beginning.

I hope the light

was soft enough

to make you forget the pain.

But I haven’t forgotten.

I carry it in my bones now.

This ache is carved into me -

a kind of holy scar.

And I am learning, slowly,

that healing

doesn’t mean forgetting.

It means remembering

without falling apart.

Still,

there are nights

when I break anyway.

When the missing you

is louder than the living.

When I press your name

against my chest

like a prayer

and ask the sky

to send you back.

It never does,

but sometimes

I dream you do.

You come to me

in the hours just before morning,

when the world is hushed

and my defenses sleep.

You never speak -

you just smile

and pull me into this place

where nothing hurts.

And for a moment

I am whole again.

I wake up

with tears on my face

and the shape of your love

wrapped around me like a blanket.

Everyone says you’re gone.

I nod. I smile.

I know what they mean.

But I don’t believe them.

Not really.

Not when your presence

shows up in my dreams,

in the quiet between thoughts,

in the way the sun breaks through

after a long storm.

I still talk to you.

Still.

I ramble about my day.

I tell you when I’m hurting,

when I’m proud,

when I’m scared.

And though the room stays quiet,

I feel something.

Not an answer,

but an echo.

A warm that says

“I’m still here.”

“I never really left.”

I believe you.

I have to.

Some days I wonder

what you would say

if you saw me now.

Would you be proud of me

for trying?

Would you sit beside me

and help me cry

the tears I’ve held back

for years?

I like to think

you’d take my hand

and whisper,

“You don’t have to be strong all the time. You’re allowed to grieve me.

I was worth grieving, wasn’t I?”

Yes.

You were.

You are.

And maybe that’s what love really is -

not the holding on,

but the letting go

with grace.

The choosing to remember

without being destroyed

by remembering.

The quiet decision

to carry someone

not with sorrow,

but with reverence.

Like a melody

hummed softly

in the back of your mind

on a rainy day.

You were the best part of me.

And I don’t want to spend

the rest of my life

in mourning.

I want to live a life

you would’ve wanted for me.

One full of kindness,

of softness,

of open arms and second chances.

So I will heal.

Not all at once.

Not neatly.

But honestly.

Slowly.

I will learn to love again -

not to replace you,

but to honor what you taught me.

And when my time comes,

when the light reaches for me,

I hope I’ll see you

just beyond it -

smiling,

whole,

home.

And I will run,

arms wide,

into that place

where missing you

is no longer necessary -

into that place

where you are.

Somewhere

I was always meant

to go. 💛