When you share your life, your story, your vulnerabilities, and the entirety of your world with somebody, a part of them becomes a part of you—something that will stay long after they're gone.

When you revisit the place you first met, or pass by the street you used to cross together, your heart skips a beat; frantically beating with the rare possibility that you might accidentally come across them the same way you did before.

Hearing and speaking their name, and the simple thought of what they looked like and how they used to smile and laugh around you: those random images and sounds that play endlessly in your head; these are the things that make you long for them, for the "us" that would've stayed the same if things didn't happen the way it did.

Perhaps, these are the things that make it hard to move forward with someone else, without them. The past was a beautiful place to live in, but all you are now is a visitor, a stranger in the world you used to own, a mere remnant of the past. And while the longing lasts, I'll feel the pain until I learn to once again love myself more than I loved them.