Sometimes the ache doesn’t come from loss — but from noticing.
Noticing how their laughter has changed. How their strides are longer now. How they move ahead on the trail without checking back as often.

The moment itself is beautiful. We’re right there in it. And still, something settles quietly in our chest — not sadness exactly, but awareness. An understanding that this version of them is already beginning to shift. This is what growing looks like.

And maybe that’s why we slow down. Why we linger a little longer than necessary. Why we memorize small details — the sound of boots on gravel, the way they glance back only once, just to make sure we’re still there.

There’s no rush to capture it. We can’t try to hold it.
And so we pause and soak it in.

Because knowing this moment will pass doesn’t make it fragile — it makes it sacred. And if there’s an ache woven through the beauty, maybe it’s only because we were paying attention when it mattered most.

–Celeste