“I was ghosting you last night because I was with someone else.”

Last night marked the first time in two years that I didn’t find myself stuck in the echoes of your absence.

For once, your name wasn’t carved into the corridors of my mind. I spent that night with someone else—someone capable of holding my hand—someone able to meet my parents— someone who can still meet my eyes gaze.

This person walks, talks, and exists beyond my memories. Their bed is not nestled on Hickory St, mingling with the soil and the worms, and their head is not marked with a stone. My friends say they are good for me, perhaps even better than you. Life with them is like what you would read in a book, slow, sweet, and ordinary.

Yet, despite these comforts, they will never be you. You, who used to speed down the slow lane. You, who would lift me to the highest branch so I would have the best view. You, who would make every day its own. You, a reminder that life is too short to go slow.