Zachary Starr

In Deep: With Zachary Starr

This Week’s Question: “You’ve spoken about how your heart belongs to someone you’ve lost. How do you hold onto love while still allowing yourself to move forward? Do you believe love ever truly fades?”

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Loss is not something you get over. It’s not a wound that heals clean or a chapter you close neatly before moving on to the next. It’s a thread woven so tightly into the fabric of who you are that no matter how much time passes, you can still feel the pull of it. 

I know this because I live it. Every single day. 

Loving someone who is no longer here is a paradox. The world moves forward, and you are expected to move with it, but love—real love—does not obey time. It doesn’t lessen because it’s inconvenient, and it doesn’t fade just because the person is gone. It stays. It lingers in old memories, in the echoes of laughter you can still hear, in the spaces they once filled. 

And for a long time, I was afraid to move forward. Afraid that if I did, it would mean letting go. That moving forward meant erasing them. But I’ve come to understand something that changed everything for me: 

Love isn’t something you leave behind. It’s something you carry with you. 

I don’t believe love ever truly fades. Not if it was real. It changes shape, it finds new ways to exist, but it never disappears. It becomes part of you, woven into every decision, every dream, every quiet moment when you close your eyes and still feel them near. 

So, how do I hold onto love while still allowing myself to move forward? 

By understanding that moving forward isn’t forgetting. It’s honoring. It’s choosing to live in a way that reflects the love I was given. It’s allowing myself to feel joy again, to build something new, to open my heart—not because I’ve let go, but because love, when it’s real, isn’t something that binds you. It’s something that frees you. 

I carry them with me in everything I do. In every story I write. In every word I share. In every quiet moment where I look up at the stars and whisper, I remember. 

And I always will. 

— Zachary