I didn’t think being away would feel like this —
like living in a pause.
The world keeps spinning,
and I’m somewhere outside of it,
trying to remember how to breathe again.
They say this is where healing happens,
but no one tells you that healing can feel
a lot like breaking in private.
Like tearing down the parts of yourself
you built just to survive.
I miss you in the quiet moments —
in the slow mornings when the walls hum softly,
in the long nights where time forgets how to move.
It’s not just your voice I miss,
it’s the way your presence steadied me,
the way your silence felt like understanding.
Some days, I want to tell you everything —
how it hurts to be here,
how it’s lonely even surrounded by people,
how I’m learning to sit with the pieces of myself
I used to keep buried.
But I know I’m here for a reason.
I know I have to face the dark before I can find the light again.
Still, I carry you with me —
in every small step, every shaky breath,
every promise that I’ll come back whole.
Missing you isn’t weakness.
It’s proof that I’m still capable of love,
even while learning how to love myself again.
Through the Fog 