“Sometimes the memories arrive like soft whispers. Other times they crash through me like storms.”

Sometimes the memories arrive like soft whispers. Other times they crash through me like storms.

I can’t stop replaying the moments. The life that once felt like ours.

The laughter.

The small, ordinary things that built a world.

We used to race each other to finish crossword puzzles.

And no matter how hard he tried he could not beat me at Boggle.

He hated the fact that I was better with words than he was!

He taught me how to parallel park, patient hands guiding mine on the wheel,

his voice calm while cars honked behind us.

He showed me how to cut siding, how to always measure twice and cut once.

Taught me how to dig holes and set posts for vinyl fences.

We built a “rabbitat” for the rabbit. and a playhouse out of scrap material.

Two dreamers turning leftovers into a castle. Towel fights around the house.

Riding shotgun in the wrecker, windows down, air heavy with gas and wind.

I miss all of that.

Every lesson.

Every inside joke. Every small thing I didn’t know was precious until it was gone.

How can I ever find someone who makes life feel like that again? Someone who makes ordinary things extraordinary?

My heart is full of sadness. My eyes full of tears.

I don’t know how to think or feel anymore. It’s like I am numb, walking through echoes. My life feels incomplete.

This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to go through.

And I am alone.

The memories keep me company and break me at the same time.

They’re all I have left of a world that no longer exists.

But still, I hold them.

Because even if they hurt,

it’s all I have left; memories.

But I’ve been asking myself something I never wanted to face:

Why does my mind replay the good moments with someone who broke me?

Why do I remember the laughter, the lessons, the softness but forget the nights I cried myself to sleep.

The way I kept shrinking to fit inside a love that never had room for me? The brain protects the heart by hiding the very things that should keep us away.

How it tucks the pain into dark corners. And spotlights the memories that feel safe, familiar, warm.

But the truth is simple and brutal:

It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t steady. It wasn’t love that let me grow. it was love that made me forget who I was.

So why do I miss him?

Because my heart remembers the version of him I hoped was real. Because the good moments were rare, but they were bright. Because even toxic people can give us memories that feel like home.

But missing someone doesn’t mean they were good for you. Missing someone doesn’t mean you should go back. Missing someone only means you’re human.

(NEXT – PART 3: THE SETUP

CHAPTER 9: THE KNOCK)