He is the last connection from last summer that I haven’t fully let go of yet. I can feel it. Not dramatically, but in the quiet moments when my mind slows down and there’s nothing else to focus on. That’s when he shows up again, like a memory that never really packed up and left.

For months it was easy between us. Comfortable. No pressure, no expectations, just time spent together and the understanding that it was what it was. I didn’t push for more, and he didn’t offer it. We stayed right there in the middle, and I was okay living in that space.

But the last time I saw him, something about it felt different. The way he touched me felt more intentional, more present, like he wanted to hold onto the moment a little longer than usual. Not enough to change anything, not enough to promise anything, just enough to make me feel it deeper than I expected to.

I can almost feel his side of it too. Like he’s living in the moment, taking what feels good, keeping it simple, not trying to build something bigger than what he’s ready for. Staying where it’s comfortable. Staying where there’s no pressure to give more than he wants to give.

And I get that. I really do.

Still, sometimes I catch myself wanting him in a way that feels stronger than it should. Missing him. Thinking about him. Wondering what it would feel like if things were different, even though I already know they’re not. I try to push the thoughts away, fill my time with other things, keep myself busy so I don’t sit in it too long.

But when the house is quiet again, when everything settles, those thoughts come back like they were just waiting for their turn.

He’s the last one.
The last connection from last summer.
The last piece still hanging on.

And I can feel myself slowly loosening my grip on it, even on the days when I miss him the most.