What you’re leaving behind has defined you. It has informed you. It has illuminated your days for quite a while now, and you’re afraid for that light to disappear because you don’t know what life without it looks like. But you can’t keep looking back.

But what if it’s not ready to end? Or it is, but, it’s not really sure how?

They swept their hair out of their eyes in the same way, they put two sugars in their coffee the same way, they played with a fray on their jeans the same way. But there was an invisible inner part that you could sense had evaporated from them, maybe even overnight, that was not going to come back.

I wish that you leaving weren’t some horrible fate which lingered on the periphery of my vision and haunted me with prospects of having to start all over again when I was once sure I had it all figured out.

Part of me wants to ask you to let me go, even though I know how ridiculous that is. If I really think about it, I understand that you are not intentionally stringing me along or periodically giving me false hope for something we might have in the future.