I think I need more time to remember it all.

I thought I was okay.

Or at least, better than before.
I thought I could see things with a clearer heart.
How we unraveled, how it all came disconnected.

I thought I could be grateful
just because he was with me for a while.

I thought I could feel peace,
knowing he’s living the life he always wanted.

I really thought I could.

But some nights,
the same truth screams louder.
That we’re strangers again.

And I still don’t know which hurts more.
The idea that he would let go of me,
or that he never wanted to, but had to.

I still don’t know which weighs heavier.
That he might be haunted by our memories like I am,
or that he remembers me as a chapter long closed.

I don’t know which ache runs deeper.
That we were a rare eclipse,
but only passing for a moment,
or that no matter what happens,
the universe will lead us to the right ending,
even if that ending isn’t us.

I thought maybe,
this was how I’d finally learn to let him go.
To find a new kind of safety.
To come home to myself.

But I still see him.
In the small things.
The way he used to speak.
How he’d react,
how he’d ramble,
about nothing and everything.

And every time.
I still remember.
I still imagine.

As if he’s still here.