Tethered Souls

A reflection on the kind of love that lives in your bones—before, during, and after goodbye.

🎧 Listen while you read:
“Transatlanticism” — Death Cab for Cutie

Some connections are beyond name.

They’re closer. Hallowed.

Tethered souls through space and time. Split between bodies. They are a piece of you. Living out in the world without you.

When you’re with them, you feel whole. Safe.

You breathe easier.
Laugh louder.
Put down your masks.

But even before they leave, you feel the ache in your chest. The catch in your throat.

Melancholy creeps in before the goodbye.

Grief is funny like that. It doesn’t always wait for death.

Your body knows before your mind.

Your cells prophesize the separation, and you start missing the part of yourself that you can’t even name.

A marrow-deep remembering of loss before they’re gone. But you don’t fully understand why.

Perhaps past-life echoes. Your soul evoking a thousand goodbyes across lifetimes.

Or ancestral alchemy. Your bloodline mourning through you.

But your spirit knows.
A piece of yourself is about to walk away.

A part of you that was never physically attached—
but always, somehow, tethered.