If We Were Only A Memory

She doesn't remember the exact moment it stopped being a love story-only that it did.

Before everything fractured, he was her first love. The kind that doesn't feel chosen, like it was always going to happen whether she was ready or not. In a life already shaped by instability and silence, he was the only thing that felt real. The only place she could breathe.

But there was a night that changed the shape of everything.

A death no one ever explained out loud. A truth that got buried too quickly to survive scrutiny. A moment that split time cleanly in two, leaving only questions where certainty used to be.

After that, nothing stayed the same.

People stopped talking about what happened. Doors closed. Names disappeared from conversations mid-sentence. And she learned, slowly, how to live inside the absence of answers.

Thirteen years passed like that-without closure, without clarity, without the version of the past that made sense.

And still, some memories don't fade. They wait. Quietly. Patiently. Like they were never finished with her at all.