I listen to a podcast about love every week and it reminds me of him, not because of the content, but because one of the hosts has his exact same mannerisms.

“Yes!” The host draws out the word to agree with a well-made point and you can hear the sincerity in his breath. My stomach clenches every time, because he used to say that to me.

It had been six months since I’d spoken to him and I am the healthiest I’ve ever been, emotionally speaking, but sometimes I think I make fewer good points now.


He texts me to say he’ll be in town for work soon and would I like to see him—not that he would like to see me, the writer in me immediately notices.

But that is not enough. He is not enough, I know, and I won’t let him lead me down this rabbit hole again. Not when it’s pointless and vague and weighs heavy on my heart.

And so I say no more sincerely than I ever have before. I miss you—too, still, and maybe always—but no.


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