Fragments of Him

I see him everywhere.

Not the whole of him — never that.

Just flashes.

The weight in a stranger’s eyes at the gym.

The way a mouth twists when someone is thinking too hard.

The nod. The laugh. The eyebrow tilted just so.

Each time, it catches in my chest. Not sadness. Recognition. As if my soul is whispering, there you are.

I never panicked about losing him, even when years went by without a word. He was etched too deep. I knew I’d always find him again — in this lifetime, or the next.

I didn’t yet know what it would feel like to give that up.

I didn’t yet know the kind of grief that comes from trying to silence a love that refuses to die.