Everything reminded me of you. The smell of your shampoo lingered on my pillow, our favorite songs became unbearable, and every sunset felt like a cruel reminder of what I’d lost. I replayed our happiest moments like a movie in my mind, simultaneously comforting and destroying myself with the echoes of a love that no longer existed. The comb sat untouched in the bathroom, and your favorite mug still sat on the counter. I couldn’t escape you — you were in the songs we loved, the places we went, the words I almost said.

I carried you like a phantom, reliving every happy moment like a cruel addiction. I clung to memories like lifelines, even though they were the very things breaking me. Letting go felt impossible because forgetting you felt like erasing a part of myself. I couldn’t escape you, even in sleep — my dreams were haunted by your voice, your touch, the way you used to say my name.

I avoided our favorite spots, turned off songs that reminded me of you, and deleted your number only to rewrite it from memory. But grief doesn’t follow logic. It comes in waves — sudden and violent — knocking you breathless when you least expect it.

I carried our memories like a burden, heavy and relentless. I wasn’t ready to let go of the pain, because letting go of the hurt felt like letting go of you.