The world still expects him to walk through the door. The air still holds the space where his voice should be, that familiar drawl, that unmistakable grin, that one phrase he always had locked and loaded—

"Hey, Momma."

If time could rewind, it wouldn’t stop at just one moment. It would stretch, unravel, loop through every single one. The laughter, the eye rolls, the comebacks, the way he had of making the ordinary feel like something more. Because that’s who he was—a presence too big for just one memory, a soul too wild to be confined to a single story.

If there were one last chance, just one fleeting second, the words would already be waiting.

"I love you, brat."

Jacob wasn’t just a person. He was personality. He was the unfiltered kind of energy that filled a room before he even said a word. The kind of presence that made people take notice. He lived out loud, without apology, without hesitation. His humor had an edge, his heart had no limits, and his ability to turn a dull moment into something worth remembering was unmatched.

And now, the world feels too quiet. Too still. But he’s not really gone, is he? His voice still lingers in the walls, in the wind, in the corners of every memory where his name is spoken. He’s in the jokes that land just right, in the stories that start with, "You remember when Jakester..." and end with a laugh that aches at the edges.

Jacob was never meant to be forgotten. And he won’t be. Because love like his doesn’t fade. It stays, woven into the spaces he once filled, waiting—always waiting—for that door to swing open again.