Today, I let myself go back on purpose.

To all the reasons why
there's always space for him
in me. 

Not because of some glimpse of us.
Not because some memory slipped through.
It's just because I missed what it felt like

to keep him close.

I traced the places we passed.

Replayed the little habits,

held again our loud,
biggest shared dreams. 

I pulled out the feeling 

of meeting him for the first time,
and every time after that.

The memories came not in order.

As if they, too, had been waiting
to be felt again. 

His presence. 

The way he gave me time.

His laughter.

The one that melts everything numbed.

The one I swore I would keep safe

for as long as I could.

So today,

I remembered him fully.

Not to make sense of why.

Not to search for lessons in the loss.

Not to ask what went wrong. 

I just let myself remember him.

And the way he made me fall

again, and again,

and again,

and again.

And as much as I've tried
to accept what is,

I still find it easier to explain

why it was only ever him.