Brenda is our host. To join in click here.
The magic was gone the day she didn’t come back.
Now, every room in the house seems to drag with her absence—like the air itself had forgotten how to move. I keep her nest of trinkets by the window: a cracked mug, a broken comb, a feather she said was from an angel.
A breeze slips through the curtains, carrying the faint scent of rain. For a moment, I almost hear her laugh again—soft, quick, alive. Then it’s gone, and I’m left with the quiet hum of the world moving on without her.
There’s a ghost in my chest, whispering what I don’t need to hear but can’t stop listening to.
It tells me to keep living, to tell her story, to believe that loss isn’t the end.
I don’t answer. I just breathe. And for the first time in months, the air feels lighter.
Our words this week are:
Therapy Bits 
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