The Echo Between Worlds, Part 3, where the hurt hides.
Some echoes don't return all at once.
They slip in sideways, through a window left ajar, through a
breast held too long, through the name he stopped saying until
it's spelled out by accident. He thought the echoes were done,
thought silence had finished what memory started, but the
hurt had only hidden. But Lisbon kept holding him,
with its cracked tiles and its rooms that refused to forget,
And he's still here, still listening, still mistaking
silence for healing. It was just there.
That's what I told myself, a breeze brushing past the
curtain. Not a memory, but I should have
checked the window, should have closed it, should have noticed
the way it leaned open, like something was still trying to
get in. I thought.
I packed everything, the photos, the charger, even the jacket you
hated wearing. I left the muck, the chipped 1.
It felt fair, something to keep you company.
Grief doesn't knock. It waits for the half open
window, the half deleted playlist, the scent that
shouldn't still exist. It crawled in last night while I
was brushing my teeth. I looked up and you were there,
Just a version of you my mind keeps in the mirror.
I almost said your name, not for you, but to see if I still
could. They say it gets easier, that
love fades like bruises, but this one didn't fade.
It climbed in through the window I forgot to close.
I said your name today. Not out loud, but I heard it in
my head. In that split second between
waking and remembering you're gone.
It startled me. Like it didn't belong in my
mouth anymore, like I borrowed someone else's grief.
I used to say it easily in cafes, in grocery stores, in the
middle of a crowd. Like the name would find you
faster than I could. Now it feels different, heavier,
sharp at edges, like something that should only be whispered
into a room that still misses you.
I tried writing it down, just once, but my hand shook as if
the ink knew it wasn't supposed to remember you this clearly.
You're still here, aren't you? In the ache behind my teeth, in
the pause before I speak, in the name I carry but can't say
without splintering. They say the first step to
healing is naming the pain. So I tried, and your name was
heavier than I remembered. I didn't mean to end up on our
street. I told myself I was heading
somewhere else. A bookstore, a lookout,
anywhere. But somehow every street lead to
you. Every wrong turn wasn't wrong at
all. It was memory.
I passed the corner where we used to wait for the tram.
Your shadow wasn't there, but mine stretched long enough for
both of us. I kept walking, Saw the bakery
you loved, the one that spelled your name wrong on the receipt.
I still have it. It's folded in a book I haven't
touched since. You're in everything here.
The bench, the street lamp, the sound the rain makes on those
red tiles. I keep thinking I'll turn a
corner and forget you, but Lisbon doesn't work like that.
It folds you in and I'm too tired to fight the map anymore.
I looked in the mirror tonight, not to fix anything, just to
see, but I couldn't tell if the person looking back was still
me. I used to joke and you could
read my face like subtitles. You always knew what I was about
to say, even when I didn't. And now, now I stare at myself
like I'm waiting for someone else to speak.
I tried practicing what I say if you were still standing there,
but every sentence started was your name and ended before you
could land. I thought the mirror might
answer, might reflect something back that felt like truth.
Instead, it just watched me crack a little.
The silence in this room used to be ours.
Even when we didn't speak, we understood it.
Now it's just quiet. Too quiet, like the air is
afraid to remember you out loud. I keep waiting for the mirror to
blink first, but it doesn't. It just stays there.
I replayed it again. That moment, the one we both
knew should have been the end. We were on the stairs.
You were holding the railing like you needed it to stay
balanced, like maybe you weren't sure if you should leave or
asked me to stop you. I didn't say anything.
You didn't either. We just stood there, trying to
look casual while everything underneath us cracked.
That was the moment we should have stopped, should have left
it there before we started hurting each other in new ways.
Before the silence got mean. But we didn't.
We kept going, stayed just long enough to forget why we loved
each other in the 1st place. I remember the night you told me
you didn't know how to be in the room with me without feeling
like you were vanishing. I said nothing.
I should have said I know, because I was vanishing too.
I still walk past the stairwell sometimes.
It's nothing now, just stairs. But for me, it's still the place
where we made the worst mistake love can make.
We kept going when we already knew we shouldn't, and now even
memory hurts more than it heals. Some pain doesn't scream, it
just settles quietly into the corner of a life still being
lived. He didn't mean to say the name,
didn't mean to stay this long. But some cities hold on for you
when you're too tired to hold on yourself.
Lisbon didn't move forward, but he did, barely, still listening,
still haunted, still healing even when it didn't feel like
it. And maybe that's the hardest
part, realizing the echo isn't over just because it's quieter.
If this echo stayed with you, let it leave a comment.
Let someone know what still echoes for you.
You've been listening to The Echo Between Worlds Part 3,
where the hurt hides, and if you're still here, you're part
of this. Now I say your name slowly,
afraid to breathe.