He was kind, gentle, loving, and caring. By every measure, he was good to me. Yet I could never silence the fear that every act of love came with an escape plan, as though one foot was always outside the door. So I left before he could. I thought I was protecting my heart. Instead, I broke it. Nearly two months have passed, and he is still everywhere in songs, in quiet moments, in the future I imagined. He owes me a back massage, a wedding, and children who would laugh at my expense because he taught them how. How do you move on from a life that never happened, yet feels like a memory?