There’s a weight we carry, unseen yet near,

Memories that pull, each one so clear.

Faces and voices, gone but not lost,

Moments we’d trade, no matter the cost.

In the quietest rooms, their laughter stays,

In the darkest of nights, their light finds its way.

Every love, every loss, like whispers we hear—

Echoes of us, still holding us near.

We’re tied to the lives that brushed past our own,

To hands that held tight, to love we’ve known.

Through years and miles, they live in our skin,

Their voices beneath the life we begin.

In the quietest rooms, their laughter stays,

In the darkest of nights, their light finds its way.

Every love, every loss, like whispers we hear—

Echoes of us, still holding us near.

Even when silence feels like goodbye,

Their love stays hidden, but never dies.

It lives in the words we say and feel,

The echoes of those who made us real.

In the quietest rooms, their laughter stays,

In the darkest of nights, their light finds its way.

Every love, every loss, like whispers we hear—

Echoes of us, still holding us near.

In every breath, in every sigh,

They’re the stars that light up our sky.

Echoes of us, forever and true,

The past, the present, the love we pursue.