.

I wonder if you ever think of me.

Lately, I’ve been replaying our memories together more than I know how to stop. It doesn’t even feel like memory sometimes; it feels like I’m right back there, just watching it all happen again. Georgetown Square, when it started pouring and we ran under that shop roof, laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world. We didn’t even care that we were stuck there. We just stood close enough that it felt like nothing else existed outside of that small, wet world. And what stays with me most isn’t the rain or the place, it’s you. The way you laughed so easily, so fully, like joy came naturally when you were there.

And then there’s the lake.

It comes back to me in pieces that feel almost too soft to hold. The full moon over the water, everything quiet except for us. I still hear your voice in my head sometimes saying,

“The way you look at the moon is the way I look at you.”

I don’t think you know what that did to me, or maybe you do. We ended up holding each other that night, like we always somehow found our way back to doing. Laughing again, like time hadn’t tried to pull us apart. I remember tracing your back and thinking how unreal it felt to be that close to you, like I was being trusted with something I didn’t deserve but would spend forever being grateful for.

I was so in love with you it scared me, in ways I didn’t know how to say out loud. And even now, it hasn’t really gone away. It just sits differently in me. Softer, quieter, but still there, still yours in some way.

I’ve also moved out recently, which meant going through everything I’ve kept tucked away in boxes and corners of my life. And I found your letter.

It lingers. It holds on. It changes shape, but it doesn’t fully leave.

I can’t lie and say I don’t miss you. I do. Deeply. In ways that come in waves. Some days I can breathe through it, and other days it feels like it fills my chest until there’s no room for anything else.

But even with that ache, I’m grateful. Genuinely grateful. Because what we had, even with all its imperfections and endings, was something rare. Something that that meant something.

It’s been months since we’ve spoken, but I still wonder if you carry any of it with you. If those nights by the rain and the lake ever replay in your mind the way they replay in mine. If they ever feel as alive to you as they still do to me.