I’ve never felt such a reckoning with the shape of who we are, of what we love and what we leave behind. 

Not much happens, instead of filling time with explosive flashbacks there is a slowness that wrings out every reason for letting go and disappearing, until you’re entirely spent, all over again. The only thing you can do is leave.

“I never felt like you were dead. I could always feel you walking around, talking, some place.”