Shifting Slowly

Life is a journey—
always shifting, always strange.
One minute we are whole,
and the next
there’s suddenly a hole
where something loved once lived.

One day we’re planning
the rest of our lives,
drawing maps
with steady hands.
The next
we’re jolted awake
by doubts about tomorrow,
wondering how fast
everything can change.

Panic climbs my spine
each time the phone rings.
It was never meant
to be like this—
not now,
not in this chapter.

We were supposed
to hear you laugh
into your gray years,
your wrinkles soft as stories,
and watch you dance with her
on her wedding day—
your hands shaking,
your smile shining
like someone finally at ease.

All your life
you feared bad news.
You lived big
and somehow
never fully lived.
 

You worked,
you laughed,
you filled space—
but kept parts of yourself
locked away.

And now I stand here
holding all the things
you never said,
all the moments
you never let yourself have,
and all the days
we thought we still had time for.

But still—
your echo stays.
In the laugh you left behind,
in the courage you gave us
without knowing,
in the love
that still lingers
even after the light goes out.

So I walk forward
with your memory
like a pulse in my chest,
a reminder that life
is too short
to stay half-alive.

And this time,
for both of us,
I choose to live.