I didn’t ask him to stay.
But I also didn’t ask him to haunt me.
And that was enough.
He touched me like I was a place he wasn’t sure he could return to.
And then he didn’t.
Return.
But the ache did.
Some women chase fire.
I inhaled smoke.
And built an altar from what lingered.You think you know what she remembers.
But memory isn’t what burns.
It’s what smolders quietly, under skin and silence.
