Where Love Heals

You used to live in my favorites.

Right at the top.

I never had to look for you.

And then today,
in the quiet of an ordinary morning,
I found myself laughing at a message from a friend,

and thought of you without hurting.

When I searched for your name,
I had to scroll and then scroll again.

And there you were.

Buried beneath a life you were no longer part of.

And God, that hurt.

Not because I wanted you back,
but because I realized
I had already moved on.

Laughter and plans.
New places. New faces.
Words I’ve written you’ll never read.
Mornings I survived without thinking of you.

Life quietly moved you down the page.

And I hadn’t even noticed.

I used to think healing meant deleting you.

Like if I could erase your name,
I could erase what you meant to me.
And I’d be free.

Like eventually,
the ache would stop living inside my chest.

I don’t believe that anymore.

Because I still love you.

Not as a question.
Not as an invitation.
Not as a reason to want you back.

Just as something that is still true.

And maybe it always will be.

I was laughing before I saw your name.

And somehow,
I am happy.

Not pretending.
Not surviving.
Just living.

I can miss you
without wanting you back.

You moved down the page,
not because I pushed you there,
but because life kept writing.

And now your name can still ache
without stopping me.

You are still part of my story.

Just not where it ends.

Jacque Michele