Part III: The Version of Me That Stayed Behind

The messages changed first.
Replies grew shorter,
silences grew longer,
and I learned that endings
often arrive quietly before they are spoken.
Then one day,
you let us go.
And though time has carried me forward,
part of me still lingers there—
in that borrowed city,
on those hopeful streets,
with the version of myself
who had no idea she was making memories
she would spend years trying to heal from.