The Love That Lives Within

Some connections don’t end.

They change form — from presence to memory, from conversation to something that lives quietly inside you.

There are people whose souls brush against yours in a way that can’t be undone.

Not because of how long they were in your life, but because of how deeply they reached.

Because, for a time, they saw you — the real you — and their care became a place you could rest.

I once knew a connection like that.

Someone whose steadiness made safety feel possible.

Someone whose gentleness helped me meet parts of myself I used to hide.

Someone who showed me that goodness could exist not as perfection, but as genuine care in motion.

Grieving someone who is still alive is its own quiet kind of ache.

There’s no ritual for it, no language that fits.

You’re left holding a love that still lives in you, but has nowhere to go.

But love doesn’t vanish just because contact ends.

It roots itself differently — in the way you see the world, in the way you learn to hold yourself.

It becomes the proof that care can change a life, even if it no longer has a voice.

For me, that love still lives in the shape of the octopus — a container we built together during EMDR.

A place inside me that can hold what feels too big, too heavy.

It was once something I imagined.

Now, it’s something that lives within me.

It reminds me of her steadiness, her voice guiding me toward safety, her belief that I could carry myself through the storm.

I carry that love quietly — not as hope for reunion, but as gratitude that something so rare and true ever existed at all.

It’s part of my healing now.

Part of my body.

Part of me.

And still, somewhere deep inside, I hold one small hope —

that if life is kind, and time allows, and I grow old and wrinkled and wise,

maybe our paths will cross once more.

Not to return to what was,

but to share a coffee, a smile,

and to witness her soul again —

the way one might recognize a star that once lit their night sky.

Some people leave, but what they help you build stays.

That’s the kind of love that doesn’t fade — it integrates.

Disclaimer

This reflection comes from my lived experience. It’s written to honor a meaningful therapeutic connection and the enduring impact of the healing work that continues to live within me.

For the one who helped me build what still lives within me