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I remember what it feels like to lose something that never really left.

Today I read:
“You won’t find the same person twice, not even in the same person.”

And something in me sank.

Because I knew I wasn’t holding on to him.

I was holding on to the boy he used to be.
The one who smiled like he meant it,
the one who hadn’t yet learned
to guard his heart so well.

And maybe I stayed because I believed
that version of him was just buried.

For so long,
I didn’t know who I was saying goodbye to.

The person he became,
or the version I kept alive
in my memory.

Maybe that’s the strangest part:

How the love I lost feels more
like a life I dreamt than one I lived.

And maybe,
just maybe,
the grief isn’t about losing him.

But finally letting go
of the person he never promised
to stay as.

And I guess, now, that’s okay.

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