"The Echo"

I've always been afraid of losing the hands I hold, the hearts I trust as if love were a fragile thread and I, the wind that breaks it. Each goodbye echoes louder than the last and I carry them like shadows stitched to my steps. Sometimes I wonder in quiet rooms or crowded ones where I still feel alone— if anyone looks at me and feels the tremble of fear in their chest at the thought of my absence. Is there someone who watches me leave and counts the seconds till return? Someone whose silence breaks when mine begins? I’ve always known what it means to ache for presence, but is there a soul who aches for mine? Perhaps love is not only in the holding but in the hoping that we’re held, too.