Still With You

I see him walking through the snow,

his steps slow, deliberate,

crunching through the white silence.

The wind bites at his cheeks,

but he doesn’t flinch—

he never does.

He’s carrying my favorite lilies.

I can almost smell their sweetness,

even here.

And tucked under his arm,

a box of chocolate,

wrapped in gold, like he used to bring me

when we were still young and didn’t know

what loss felt like.

“Happy anniversary,” he says,

his voice steady, but his eyes betray him.

They always do.

I wish I could touch his face,

wipe the frost from his lashes.

“You look tired,” I tell him.

“You’re not sleeping again.”

“I’m fine,” he murmurs,

as if to himself, though no one is near.

“I’ve been busy with her. She’s—she’s starting to look like you.”

He smiles for a moment,

but it crumbles,

his hand trembling as he brushes snow

from the cold stone before him.

I want to tell him he’s wrong.

She doesn’t look like me;

she looks like him—

the same dark eyes,

the same stubborn tilt to her chin.

But I know he sees me in her,

and that’s both his joy

and his torment.

“You’re doing so well,” I whisper,

though he shakes his head,

as if dismissing a thought he can’t speak aloud.

“You’re a wonderful father.

She loves you so much.”

“She needs more,” he says, his voice cracking.

“She needs you.”

And there it is—the crack

in the dam he’s built so carefully.

Tears slip down his face,

quickly wiped away,

as though ashamed to show them to the world.

I wish I could hold him.

“I’m here,” I say softly,

though I know he can’t hear me.

“I’m always here. But I need you to move forward.”

“No,” he chokes out,

his knees sinking into the snow.

“I can’t. I won’t.”

He buries his face in his hands,

his breaths uneven, raw.

I watch as he breaks,

the man I love unraveling

before me.

“I don’t want to move on,” he whispers.

“I don’t want to forget you. I don’t want her to forget you.”

I ache at his words,

at his unwillingness to let me go.

“You’re not forgetting,” I assure him.

“You’ll never forget.

But love again.

Let her grow up with someone who can teach her

how beautiful this world can be.

It doesn’t mean you’re leaving me behind.”

He shakes his head, his fingers tracing the letters of my name.

The snow begins to fall harder now,

dusting his shoulders,

the flowers,

the grave.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I always will.”

“And I love you,” I reply.

“But it’s time. Please—please let me rest,

so you can live.”

He kneels there for a long time,

long after the chocolates grow cold

and the snow blankets the lilies.

And though I’ll stay here,

always with him,

I can only hope

that someday

he’ll walk away.