Every day, the weight softens—
not gone, just lighter.
The ache loosens its grip
without asking permission.
Days pass quietly,
one folding into the next,
until memory stops announcing itself
and becomes a whisper.
Then one ordinary day arrives—
no warning, no ceremony—
and you realize
you lived the whole day
without thinking of him.
And that’s how healing happens:
not loudly,
not all at once,
but in the silence
where pain used to live.
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