Echoes of You

7

Dear Caitlin,

Today, I walked through our neighborhood, trying to find some solace in the familiar sights. Every street corner, every park bench seems to hold a memory of us. I passed the bookstore where we spent so many afternoons browsing for books, and I went inside. I found the book you were reading before the accident, and I bought a copy. Holding it in my hands, I could almost hear your voice, see your smile as you told me about it. It felt like a small piece of you was still here with me.

I sat in our favorite reading nook, the one by the window, and opened the book. The words on the pages seemed to come alive with the echoes of our conversations. I could almost picture you sitting there, your head resting on my shoulder as we shared our thoughts on the story. Every page I turned felt like a reminder of how much I miss you. It's strange how something so ordinary can be so deeply intertwined with our memories.

Tonight, I tried to cook dinner, just like we used to. I remember how you would tease me about my cooking skills, or rather, the lack of them. I tried to make your favorite dish, but it didn't turn out right. The kitchen was filled with the smell of burnt food, a stark contrast to the way it used to smell when you were here, laughing and guiding me through the recipe. I sat down with a plate of the burnt remnants, feeling the emptiness around me. I ate in silence, missing your presence, your laughter, and your comforting words.

Every day without you is a challenge. I try to keep busy, to distract myself, but it never lasts. The moment I stop, the weight of your absence comes crashing down on me. I keep hoping for a miracle, a sign that you're still here with me, but the reality is too harsh.