I don’t think there’s such a thing as ‘getting over someone.’

I think you can move on; I think you can let them go. But when it comes to getting over them, having them become this large, absent black hole in your memory—that’s impossible.

These bodies that you’ve touched, these lips you’ve kissed, the moments of growth and anger and frustration and patience and forgiveness and tender care cannot simply cease to exist.

I don’t think we can get over people we’ve loved. Not fully.

They just become a part of our lives, our road maps, the curves and twists of our paths. They become a part of the air we breathe, something we don’t think about, but bring in just the same.

They become like pollen, like dust. Something that catches in the air and spins, makes you dizzy, makes you breathe funny, makes you remember all these beautiful things you knew you’d never forget.

The memories of them take flight in the breeze. Sometimes pulling away and floating off to somewhere new. Sometimes swirling around us, covering us in reminders of the people we once were. The people we were when we loved them.

We carry these people with us in our interactions, in our harbored memories, in the way we feel when we close our eyes and exhale.

We may not love them the same as we once did.
We may not love them at all.

But they still belong to some tiny piece of us.
Some tiny piece we’ll never fully let go.