The one person who truly saw me – who valued me, who cared – is gone. And in the hollow space they left behind, I question whether I am still worthy of love, still deserving of belonging. Because right now, all I feel is the ache of their absence, the sharp edge of loneliness.

But I accept that their time was then, in the past, and mine is now. Even as I grieve, life continues to shift and unfold, carrying me forward whether I’m ready or not. Their presence shaped me, their love held me – but they were a chapter, not the entire story. And as much as their absence wounds me, I remind myself that love, belonging, and meaning still exist beyond what I have lost.

Grief does not mean I am broken beyond healing, nor does loss diminish my worth. Instead, it reflects the depth of my love – the way it still lingers in the spaces they left behind. I am allowed to hurt. But I am also allowed to hope – for love, for connection, for something meaningful again.

And yet, as time slips away, indifferent to my loneliness, I find myself trapped in its passing – watching, waiting – longing for something just beyond my reach, aching for a resolution that never comes. Watching others form new relationships, finding joy similar to the love I once had, hurts like hell. It is a reminder of what I’ve lost, of what I crave but cannot grasp. All I have left are memories – fragments of a love and life that once were.