Unfinished Conversations

There’s something I still can’t grasp — the way everyone treats Vic’s passing as though it marks a simple, clean ending.

A life concluded. A chapter closed.

But how can it be so final? His body may have been cremated, yet I can’t shake the feeling that his spirit still lingers — quietly, softly, somewhere close. There have been moments — subtle, inexplicable — that make me believe he’s still here, still reaching across the divide.

Between us, so much was left unsaid. So many words we never found the courage or time to speak. So many moments that ended mid-sentence, mid-thought.

The world may see his story as finished, but I can’t.
Not yet.
Not when I still feel his presence —
in dreams, in songs, in the quiet corners of my day.

Maybe that’s love’s way of refusing to fade —
turning endings into echoes,
and grief into the language of remembrance.

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