Bittersweet November

November drifts in, carrying the scent of you—soft as memory, heavy as loss.

Some days, the sky feels too blue, and I wander through the echoes of everything we once were.

I try not to think of you, but the heart is stubborn—it keeps the cold, the warmth, and the way your name once felt like home.

You were my first in so many ways, and those moments still shimmer in the quiet corners of my mind.

I promised this month wouldn’t be shadowed by sorrow, but grief has its own calendar.

Your birthday and your passing share the same breath of November—a cruel symmetry that leaves me unsure whether to smile or weep.

Who knew the ache would still hum beneath my ribs after all of these years?

Here I sit, pouring thoughts into the silence, hoping somehow you can hear—you are missed by many, and I am learning, slowly, not to let November shape my healing.