I hear you in everything quiet now.
In the songs I can’t get through without breaking,
the ones that feel like they were written
for exactly this kind of missing you.
“Dancing in the Sky” comes on
and I’m not ready for it—
never ready for it—
because I swear I can see you there,
smiling in a place I can’t reach,
but still somehow feel.
And “Wind Beneath My Wings”
hits differently now…
because I didn’t understand it before you left.
I didn’t know what it meant
to have someone be your lift,
your steady,
your always—
until you weren’t here to be it anymore.
And then there’s “How Do I Live”
and I don’t even need to ask the question out loud
because my heart already does it for me.
How do I live
when part of my life
stopped living here?
How do I keep going
in a world that still turns
like nothing happened…
when everything did?
People say time helps.
But time doesn’t bring you back.
It just teaches me
how to carry the weight of you
a little quieter
so the world doesn’t see me break.
You were my sister.
My friend.
My safe place in human form.
And now you’re the reason
some songs feel like grief
and others feel like prayer.
I listen anyway.
Even when it hurts.
Because it’s the closest thing
I still have
to you.
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