Since the last time we ended, I’ve played endless versions of how we might meet again.

I wrote many endings for us.

Me—finally able to walk away.
Me—finally able to forgive.
Me—angry.
Us—agreeing, once and for all,
to close the door gently.

I even imagined every possible path
that could lead to each ending.

I thought I was prepared.

But if I’m honest, a part of why I came back,
was because I knew I might see him again.

And even after rehearsing every scene a thousand times,
my heart still raced when one finally became real.

There were too many questions
at the start of our third beginning.

Why did I come back?
If we tried again, would it last?

Did I never move on because it was unfinished?
Or because my heart always came back to him?

What made this time any different?

Was I meant to end it, clearly and finally?
Or was this another chance for us?

What really happened before?
What happens now?

But months later, as we talked about
that day we met again, he said that,

I was the one who smiled so wide
when our eyes met again.

And so I took back what I once said:
That I was even more afraid of losing him
the moment I saw him again.

Because maybe, I wasn't scared.
Maybe not then.

I think, in that exact moment,
I just felt like I was finally home.