This is how it feels now

It feels like the realization that love doesn’t disappear—it mutates. It changes shape, changes weight, changes texture. It doesn’t leave, it just shifts, settling into the gaps of your day, the quiet moments before sleep, the way the wind moves through an open door. It feels like standing still while the world continues, the absurdity of traffic lights turning red, green, yellow—over and over—while you remain in the same spot, unsure if you even need to cross the street anymore. It feels like knowing that time doesn’t heal so much as blur. The edges soften, the sharpness dulls, but the outline remains. And maybe that’s all it will ever be—an outline. A shape you recognize but can’t quite touch anymore. This is how it feels now. And maybe that’s enough. For now, it is what it is...