There are mornings when I still expect to hear my old name.
Not because I miss it.
Some things don't leave when you do.
I still remember the apartment with the window that never closed all the way.
Every afternoon, the curtain would move,
even when there wasn't enough wind.
For a while, I kept thinking someone was coming back.
Now I think it was only the room trying to remember us.
Funny how places do that.
They hold on a little longer than people.
I don't mind seeing them anymore.
They don't ask me to stay.
They only sit beside me
until the silence feels familiar again.