By Emily Harper
April 23, 2025

It’s been 14 months since I last saw you. Fourteen months. It’s hard to wrap my mind around that. In a way, it feels like it was just yesterday, and in another, it feels like a lifetime ago.

You were never supposed to be gone. I still find myself checking my phone at odd hours, expecting to see your name pop up with some random thought or inside joke that would make me smile. But nothing. Just the empty silence.

I’ve tried to get over you. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself. I try to convince myself that the reason I haven’t moved on isn’t because I can’t, but because I don’t want to. Maybe it’s both. Maybe I’m scared to let go of a version of you that’s frozen in time, as perfect as you were that last day. But I don’t think I can keep doing this, holding on to memories like they’re still real. Holding on to the hope that maybe someday, I’ll see you again, and this time, it won’t feel like a goodbye.

I wish I could just forget. Let go, as people tell me to. But every time I think I’m done, I find myself fantasizing about what it would be like if you were still here. What would we talk about? What would we do? Would we still laugh at the same things? Would it be awkward between us, like it would be with anyone who’s been away for too long? Or would it feel like no time had passed at all?

I wonder if you think about me, too. I wonder if you ever stop to wonder how I’m doing, if you ever regret leaving things the way they were. But maybe you’ve moved on, and I’m just a chapter you’ve closed. Maybe I’ll get there someday, too. I just don’t know how yet.

For now, all I have is this feeling—a mix of longing and acceptance, wrapped up in one. And I don’t know if that makes it easier or harder.

All I know is that you’re not here. And that’s the hardest part of all.