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I write these words not to capture you, not to hold you, but to honor you. So that when the pages close, when silence returns, and when the years pass, a part of you remains here-tender, luminous, eternal. Every unfinished poem, every color in my sarees, every photograph where my laughter spills freely-they all carry traces of you. They are fragments of a love that refuses to be constrained by time, by distance, by the ordinary world. This is not an ending. It is a breath. A quiet promise. That no matter what storms arrive, no matter how far life stretches us, we will find each other again and...
I write these words not to capture you, not to hold you, but to honor you. So that when the pages close, when silence returns, and when the years pass, a part of you remains here-tender, luminous, eternal. Every unfinished poem, every color in my sarees, every photograph where my laughter spills freely-they all carry traces of you. They are fragments of a love that refuses to be constrained by time, by distance, by the ordinary world. This is not an ending. It is a breath. A quiet promise. That no matter what storms arrive, no matter how far life stretches us, we will find each other again and again. And when that day comes, when all the fragments of our journey align, we will simply hold each other and say, "I told you we would make it." Until then, I carry you in every heartbeat, in every word, in every silence. Because you are, and therefore I am.
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