I think about the last conversation we had. It was so mundane, about what to have for dinner and whether we needed to get more laundry detergent. I never got to say I love you one last time. I never got to say goodbye. I keep replaying that day in my head, wondering if there was something I could have done differently. If only I had insisted he take a different route, or if we had left the house just a minute earlier.

Other nights, it's the fear of forgetting. I'm terrified that one day I'll wake up and I won't remember the sound of his voice or the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. So I stay up, clinging to those memories, trying to etch them into my mind forever.

And then there are the dreams. Sometimes they're beautiful, and Alex is there, holding me, telling me everything is going to be okay. But then I wake up, and he's not there. Other times, the dreams are nightmares, and I see the accident over and over again. I wake up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding, and I have to remind myself that it's already happened. That I can't change it.

I try to find comfort in the little things. Alex loved sunsets, so I've taken to watching them every evening. I talk to him, even though I know he can't hear me. It makes me feel a little less alone. I've started writing letters to him, too. I tell him about my day, about the things I wish I could tell him in person. It's silly, maybe, but it helps.

I don't know how I'm supposed to move on from this. People tell me that time heals all wounds, but what if it doesn't? What if this pain is just something I have to learn to live with? I don't want to forget Alex. I don't want to stop missing him. But I also don't want to be trapped in this grief forever.

So, how am I feeling today? I'm feeling lost. I'm feeling broken. But I'm also feeling a tiny spark of hope, buried deep down inside me. And maybe, just maybe, that's enough to keep going.