He hasn’t moved on, but he has already accepted it.

He hasn’t forgiven himself for what happened that night.
He would wake up every day with the thought that he should’ve been the one who died.
He hasn’t forgotten her face covered in glass and dripping with blood.
He hasn’t forgotten her blood that soaked his arms, the very hands he used to hold her.

He hasn’t forgotten, but he forgets sometimes.
When he remembers the softness in her voice, the way she calls his name, her soft gentle touch.
With little effort he recalls her lips upon the first time, the feeling of coming home.
He forgets sometimes that the sadness gets so deep, he can’t even cry.

Every day he was both blessed and cursed because he feels everything very deeply.

He accepted it but he can’t seem to move on just yet.
Every day he would spend time on thinking about her, until he can move on.
Day and night spent on crying and grieving.

She left him with an “I love you” before leaving, and he’ll miss her, without saying a word.
He accepted it, but he hasn’t moved on just yet.
Let him heal.