But it doesn’t soothe the ache in my chest.
Nothing does.
Not really.
Because the truth is?
I never stopped loving him.
Not for a second.
Not through the nights in my van.
Not through the miles of empty road.
Not through the hard times.
He was always there.
In the back of my mind.
In the quiet moments.
In the what ifs.
I let out a shaky breath.
“Shit.”
And now I’m here.
Back with him.
Standing on the edge of something that feels just as dangerous as it did the first time.
Only this time?
There’s history.
There’s hurt.
There’s questions that need answers.
“I need to talk to him,” I say out loud, firmer now.
Because this—this tension. This pull.
This thing between us—it’s not going away.
Not even if we ignore it.
Not even if we pretend it’s just physical.
Because it’s not.
It never was.
I reach for the soap, going through the motions, trying to ground myself in something simple, something real.
