“Death is not the end of love. It is only the end of proximity.”
It’s easy to believe they’re gone.
No more texts. No more footsteps. No more voice calling your name from the other room.
But love doesn’t vanish with the body.
Sometimes it shows up as an instinct — a sense of what they’d say.
Sometimes it’s the way you’ve become a little more like them without realizing it.
Sometimes it’s the sudden warmth, the inexplicable calm, the quiet strength that wasn’t there a moment before.
Love continues. Not always in the ways we want. But in the ways we need.
They are no longer in front of you — but they are not gone.
They’ve become something more subtle, more tender, more woven into the fabric of your being.
Let yourself feel that presence, however it arrives. You don’t have to prove it. Just feel it.
Love has always been more than form.
Sit comfortably with your eyes closed. Think of a time you felt deeply connected to them — a quiet moment, a joke, a glance. Breathe into that memory. Then ask silently: 'Where are you now in me?' Let the answer come, not in words, but in feeling.
Write down one way their love still shows up in your life today — in who you are, in what you do, in how you love. Place it somewhere you can see it. Let it be proof: they are still with you, just in a new form.
Adrien K. “At first, it felt like he disappeared. But the more I listened, the more I noticed — he was still here. In the way I speak. In the way I comfort others. In the quiet strength I didn’t used to have. That’s him. That’s love.”
What is loved is never truly lost. It just moves differently now.