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@nateynate702
Even though you didn't make it to the end of my story, I will always have the corner folded down on your page because it was my favorite.
Things that remind me of you.
Why you keep popping up
Why you keep popping up
To Nate on our anniversary (would have been 17 years)
Seventeen years…
not just time—
a whole lifetime stitched into memories
that still breathe inside me.
We met as almost-strangers,
but you became my always.
The kind of love that didn’t ask,
didn’t doubt,
just was.
And today—
today should have been ours.
I catch myself reaching for you
in the quiet moments,
in the loud ones too,
in every version of life
where you’re supposed to be standing next to me.
I miss you in ways
that don’t even have words—
in the way the air feels heavier,
in the silence that shouldn’t be there,
in the love that still hasn’t gone anywhere.
Because it didn’t end.
It didn’t fade.
It didn’t get replaced.
You loved me in a way
that felt like home—
safe, deep, real…
like I never had to question
if I mattered.
And now I carry that love
like something sacred—
not something I’m trying to find again,
but something I was lucky enough to have
once in a lifetime.
They say people move on…
but how do you move on
from a love that became part of you?
I won’t replace you—
I couldn’t if I tried.
But I’m learning…
that your love didn’t leave me empty.
It left me full.
Full of memories,
full of lessons,
full of a kind of love
most people spend their whole lives searching for.
And maybe…
no one will ever love me the way you did—
but that doesn’t mean
I wasn’t loved deeply enough
to last forever.
Seventeen years…
and still,
it’s you.
Always you.
I miss you nate.
It's my 2 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳
I miss you
in the quiet places,
in the moments that were supposed to be ordinary
but ache now.
I wish you were here—
not as a memory,
not as a lesson,
but as you.
Breathing. Existing. Choosing me.
It’s been two years since your soul left this earth,
and I lost my mind somewhere along the way,
still wandering,
still reaching,
trying to find it in places you no longer exist.
There is no one like you in this world.
That’s not romantic exaggeration,
it’s a fact my body learned the hard way.
You didn’t just touch my heart—
you reached my bones
and left fingerprints there.
You damaged me
in ways love only can.
The kind that doesn’t bruise the skin
but changes the shape of a person.
I am different because of you.
I will always be.
And still—
I love you.
With my ribs,
with my spine,
with every quiet ache that refuses to heal.
I love you with all my bones,
even the broken ones.
I miss you, I wish you were here. Im doing the best I can.
Today and yesterday was so hard for me. Not sure why. I love this Pic of us, we were just us than no kids yet. They miss you so much, I carry it silently. We are coming up fast to feb. You ready, im not.
The Love Was Taken
The love was taken,
not chosen to end.
No goodbye practiced,
no hands slowly loosening.
There was no moment
where we decided to be brave
and walk in opposite directions.
Life made the choice for us,
sharp and sudden,
without asking what it would cost.
We were not unfinished.
We were interrupted.
I still carry the shape of you
in ordinary hours—
in the quiet after the kids fall asleep,
in the way I reach for safety
and remember where it used to live.
This is not longing for the past.
This is love with nowhere to go.
I did not fail to move on.
I was faithful to something real.
So if I stand alone some days,
it is not because I am unlovable,
but because I once knew
what being chosen felt like—
and I will not pretend
that absence is the same as goodbye.
The love was taken,
not chosen to end.
And I will carry it
without shame,
without apology,
until my heart learns
how to breathe around the ache.
Seven years married,
fourteen and a half together—
that is not a phase,
not a season,
not a “once upon a time” that faded quietly.
That is a life learned side by side.
Mornings and arguments.
Routines worn smooth by repetition.
Hands that knew each other without asking.
That is growing up together,
becoming adults in the same direction,
choosing each other again and again
until choosing became instinct.
It wasn’t short.
It wasn’t casual.
It wasn’t replaceable.
It was a deep, real, grown love—
the kind that builds a nervous system,
that teaches the body what home feels like,
that leaves an absence loud enough
to echo forever.
We didn’t just love.
We lived.
And a whole life was built,
brick by brick,
side by side.
It’s Christmas Eve
and I want the clock to hurry,
to stop pretending this night is holy
when it feels so hollow.
The gifts are wrapped,
bows tight like smiles I force,
but the room knows you’re missing.
The walls remember your laugh.
The silence remembers your place.
Love feels thin tonight—
like breath in cold air,
visible only because it hurts.
I feel it starving,
pacing the house,
looking for hands that aren’t here anymore.
Who would choose this ache?
Who would sign up for loving
after it leaves claw marks behind?
Not I,
yet here I am,
still loving you anyway.
RIP Nathan, I fight for you everyday 🙏
My reality bends in ways I can’t explain.
It blurs at the edges,
turning every breath into something heavy
and every thought into something sharp.
I’m so tired of being tired…
tired of waking up inside the same storm
with no shelter but my own shaking hands.
I miss you so much it folds me in half.
It steals the strength from my bones
and wraps itself around my ribs
until even breathing feels borrowed.
Nothing feels right without you —
every person I meet sounds like an echo,
every connection feels thin and temporary,
like no one can hold the pieces of me
the way you did,
or love me and my children
as a whole, sacred unit.
I’m sorry…
not because I did something wrong,
but because my heart still aches for a world
that no longer exists.
Because I’m still learning
how to walk alone
without dragging your memory behind me
like a broken wing.
I’m trying.
Even in the distortion,
even in the exhaustion,
there’s a small part of me
that still hopes
for clarity,
for peace,
for love that fits
without asking me to shrink.
I love you
For Those Still Hurting
Grief doesn’t leave.
It softens its voice,
but it never forgets your name.
Some days you’ll laugh again—
not because you’re healed,
but because your heart
remembered how to stretch.
You’ll feel them in small things—
the sunlight that hits just right,
a song that hums too familiar,
the silence before sleep.
Grief is love that has nowhere to go,
so it lives inside you,
changing shape until one day
it feels less like a wound
and more like a whisper that says,
“I’m still with you.”
Keep breathing.
Keep going.
They’d want that.
Smoke Signals
You were my chiefing buddy,
my number one smoking partner—
every cloud we blew
felt like a prayer between us.
Now I light up alone,
the flame flickers,
and I swear the smoke curls
in the shape of your name.
I hope my smoke signals
find you in heaven,
drifting through the stars,
soft and slow,
like the way we used to laugh
between hits and heartbeats.
I miss you, babe.
Every puff is a memory,
and every exhale—
a quiet goodbye that never ends.
I love you.