There were nights when I was certain my heart would stop.
The ache was so deep, the emptiness so heavy, that I wondered how a fragile thing like a heart could survive such weight. And yet — it kept beating. Not because it wasn’t broken, but because even broken hearts still know how to live.

I used to think love was the only reason my heart beat. That without you, it would have no purpose. But the truth is, the heart belongs to no one but ourselves. It beats for us, for the life we still have to live, for the moments that haven’t yet arrived.

Yes, it carries scars.
Yes, it skips sometimes when memories rush in.
Yes, it still trembles when I think of you.
But every beat is proof that I have survived what I thought would end me.

A heart that still beats is a heart that still hopes.
Even if it’s quiet, even if it’s fragile, even if it doesn’t yet know where it’s going — it moves forward. And maybe that’s what healing really is: not forgetting, not erasing, but learning to keep living with the rhythm that remains.

My heart doesn’t beat the same as it once did.
But maybe that’s the point.
It beats slower, wiser, softer — carrying not just love, but resilience. Carrying not just sorrow, but strength.

And one day, I believe, it will beat with joy again. Not because it has forgotten you, but because it has remembered me.

Always and Forever

💬 Does your heart still carry the weight of someone you lost? Share in the comments — your truth may help another broken heart remember it still beats too.