What do you keep when someone’s gone?

I fold their clothes now. Not because I need to, but because the shape of the shirt still holds the memory of how they stood in it. I’ve started noticing the small things—the way a hand rests on a pillow, the exact angle of a door left open. It’s not grief, exactly. More like… listening for what remains. What do you hold onto when there’s no one left to say goodbye?