When the Tears Still Come

Six months.

And still… the tears pour down my face.

Not gently.

Not occasionally.

But in waves that feel like they don’t belong to time anymore.

Like something inside you hasn’t caught up with reality.

You can be living a full life.

Building something meaningful.

Standing on a boat in the middle of the ocean.

Watching sunsets people dream about.

And still…

it hits you.

Out of nowhere.

There’s no warning.

A song.

A memory.

The way the light falls at a certain time of day.

And suddenly you’re not here anymore.

You’re back there.

With her.

The way she laughed.

The way she looked at you.

The way it felt when it was real.

And your body doesn’t care how much time has passed.

It responds like it just happened.

Tears.

Heavy.

Uncontrolled.

Honest.

Because this isn’t just missing someone.

It’s grieving a version of life that no longer exists.

A future you believed in.

A version of yourself you were becoming.

A feeling of home you didn’t even realise you had…

until it was gone.

And maybe the hardest part is this:

You’ve grown.

You’ve reflected.

You’ve understood where you went wrong.

You’ve seen how you could have loved better.

And there’s no place to put that now.

No way to go back and show it.

So the tears come.

Not just for her…

but for you.

For the man who didn’t fully open in time.

For the moments that slipped through your hands.

For the love that was there… but not fully lived.

But here’s what those tears really are:

They’re not weakness.

They’re not you being stuck.

They’re love with nowhere to go.

And that kind of love doesn’t disappear on command.

It moves through you.

Again.

And again.

Until slowly… it changes.

One day, the tears won’t come as often.

Not because you’ve forgotten.

But because something inside you has softened.

Made peace with what was.

Accepted what is.

But even then…

there will be moments.

Quiet ones.

Real ones.

Where it all comes back for a second.

And your eyes fill again.

Not because you’re broken.

But because you felt something real.

Something rare.

Something that changed you.

So if the tears are still coming…

let them.

Don’t fight them.

Don’t rush them.

Don’t try to “fix” yourself out of feeling.

Because one day, you’ll realise:

The tears didn’t mean you couldn’t move on.

They meant you loved deeply enough

that part of it stayed with you.

And that part…

isn’t something to be ashamed of.

It’s something to carry.

Quietly.

Honestly.

Like a small, invisible weight in your chest that says:

This mattered.