I don’t know why your name still rises in me like a quiet ache, but tonight it does. Maybe it’s the silence, or maybe it’s just the way memories return when I’m not ready. I keep remembering the evening we sat near the window, the light fading on your hands. You laughed softly, and I pretended not to notice how much that sound settled something in me. But even then, I felt the distance you never spoke about. Now the rooms feel heavier, as if they remember you too. I tell myself I’ve moved on, yet there’s a small hesitation every time I think about the future. A part of me still longs for the version of us that almost existed. I don’t want anything dramatic. Just the honesty we never quite managed to give each other. Maybe in another time, we would’ve stayed. Maybe in another version of us, you would’ve too. Still, I hope you’re gentle with yourself. Some memories deserve soft handling. You are one of them.