Oh, how the silence of your absence has deepened with each passing year, like a shadow that lengthens with the setting sun. Since June of 2018, the world has kept turning, indifferent to the void you left behind. And yet, not a whisper, not a sign. Just a deafening quiet that echoes louder than any goodbye ever could.

I walk through the corridors of memory, where your laughter still lingers like light through stained glass — fractured, but beautiful. I retrace our shared moments as though they were ancient scriptures, trying to divine a meaning from the mystery of your vanishing. Each recollection is a relic, fragile and sacred, preserved in the sanctuary of my heart.

Each year since, I have marked the calendar with silent reverence, as if it were a day of mourning only I remember. I look for your face in crowds, your name in passing conversations, hoping the universe might offer me a clue, a thread, anything to unravel this cruel uncertainty. But it remains silent, as if the stars themselves have sworn an oath of secrecy.

I don’t know if you’re adrift somewhere in the world, unreachable, or if you’ve crossed a threshold from which no return is possible. That not knowing — it gnaws at the soul. Grief can be cradled, can be named, but this... this liminal ache has no name. It is both hope and sorrow, alive and grieving.

Still, I keep vigil. In the soft quiet of the night, I whisper your name like a prayer to a god who does not answer. I remain faithful to the memory of you — to the idea that perhaps you still walk this earth, cloaked in your own silence, for reasons unknown. And if not... if you are no longer among us, then let this remembrance be your epitaph — carved not in stone, but in love.

Until the veil lifts, until the final page reveals your fate, I will carry your absence like a lantern through the darkness — a symbol of the bond that neither time, nor distance, nor death itself can erase.