I thought I was over him. We were talking. We had a snap streak. We were friends again. All it took was a three second selfie on his story and the memories came rushing back to me, releasing themselves as tears.
Suddenly I was driving away from my mom’s funeral home, crying on his shoulder because I regretted not speaking. Suddenly it was 2 nights after I moved out of my abusive grandpa’s house, we were lying together on two twin air mattresses, sweating because we didn’t have electricity and ridiculously tired from moving stuff around, but it was OK because he was holding me.
He kissed me goodnight, and everything felt alright. Suddenly I was riding the bus home, and he was right by my side, the hum of the engine and warmth of the sun through the window pulling me into a half sleep. I was safe because he was there. My head on his shoulder, resting and listening to his breathing and heartbeat. Suddenly we were at the apartment, just laying next to each other, not caring about anything, his hand holding mine. Suddenly I was in the present, but I was not OK.