His throat moves on a swallow.
“And I know what it’s like to feel guilty for surviving them. I thought if I ever let myself be happy again, it meant I was leaving her behind,” I admit. “Like I was choosing the world over her.”
A small, humorless smile touches my lips. “Turns out, grief doesn’t work that way. It doesn’t shrink just because you stop living. The world just carries on without you. I make a conscious effort to live every day to the fullest. For her. I want my life to be big enough for the both of us.
“You’re twenty-two…” He laughs dryly, dragging the back of his hand across his eyes to dry them. When he looks at me again, there’s something unguarded in his expression, something close to awe. He shakes his head faintly. “And you carry it like that.” His voice softens. “You continue to amaze me.”
My throat tightens, but I manage a small shrug as the wind threads through the trees, low and steady, carrying the scent of smoke and thawing earth. The world beyond our small circle of light feels vast and uncertain, but here, this space between the two of us is stripped down to something painfully real.
“Tell me about Rosie,” I whisper. And he does.
Sitting across from Easton while he speaks about the woman he still loves, I feel myself falling even harder for him. The way he loves is otherworldly—steadfast, consuming, achingly loyal. Any woman who gets to hold a piece of that heart will be unimaginably lucky. If he ever finds a way to give me a fraction of what he shared with Rosie, I know it would change my world entirely.
Dear Rosie,
I talked about you tonight. Really talked about you for the first time since I lost you. Teagan asked about you and then listened to me ramble for hours.
I told her how we met. How I practically had to grovel to get you to go on a date with me, and then how I totally fucked up my chance. I told her about that damn taco truck you loved so much, the one with the crooked hand-painted sign and the salsa that could’ve stripped paint off the walls. I still can’t comprehend why you swore it was the best food in three counties. Let alone howyou could defend it with a straight face like it was fine dining.
Her eyes lit up while I talked. The way they do when she’s excited about something. That part caught me off guard. She didn’t dim when I said your name or told her how much I still love you. She listened like she was honored to learn who you were.
You always had that effect on people. Rooms felt warmer when you walked into them, like someone had opened all the windows and let fresh air in. You made everyone feel like they mattered. For however long they had you, you made their world feel possible.
I miss you, dreamer.
I miss the way you believed in things before they were real and you humming off-key in the kitchen.
But most of all, I miss who I was when you were here.
Talking about you didn’t make you feelfarther away tonight. If anything, it felt like setting your memory down gently instead of carrying it alone.
But there’s something else I need to tell you. And I don’t know if I should, because it feels… wrong.
I like her, Rosie.
And I don’t know what that means. The idea of moving on, even in the smallest way, makes me feel like I’m leaving you behind. But we both know living in the past is slowly killing me. I can’t lose you, not really. Not the way you’re a part of me. But I also can’t live my life wallowing in your memory, letting it keep me frozen in a time when you were still here.
The irony is—if anyone could tell me how to navigate this, it’d be you. You’d be the one I’d trust most to explain how to hold onto love without letting it destroy me. But you’re not here. And if you were… I wouldn’t be in this situation. I wouldn’t even be thinking these things.
I’m scared, dreamer. Scared of moving forward, terrified of what that means. If I let someone else in, will I somehow fail to honor what we had? Scared of myself, of how much I might hurt her. My heart still beats for you, and I’m worried I won’t be able to care for her the same way.
Thinking about living again feels impossible. Messy and confusing.
I guess that’s what grief looks like when it tries to push you into actually existing again. Confusing. Messy. Impossible.
I wish you could see this. I wish I could tell you everything in person. I’d give anything to hear your laugh and roll your eyes at how dramatic I’m being. I’d give anything to have your hand brushing mine and know you weren’t going anywhere.
I’m trying... I’m trying to figure out how to keep loving you while letting myself move on. I don’t have the answers yet. I’m still fumbling in the dark, holding your memory close while stepping into somethingnew, something I don’t even fully understand.
I just wanted you to know.
All my love always,
Easton
I wake, and for a second, I don’t know where I am. There’s canvas above me instead of a ceiling, and the smell of smoke clings faintly to the air.The perimeter run…
As I stir, I notice a warmth radiating through me that doesn’t belong to the morning sun. The sky beyond the tent is barely light, that pale gray hour before sunrise commits. The world is quiet except for the wind dragging softly across the prairie.
