I've asked myself that question at 1 a.m. more times than I want to admit. Not out loud. Just staring at the ceiling, replaying something small he said, like a joke about how someone before me used to make his coffee a certain way. He probably forgot it five minutes later. I didn't.

I used to think if I tried harder, I could outdo a memory. A memory doesn't have bad days. It doesn't ask for space or get tired or say the wrong thing at dinner. It just sits there, perfect, because nothing new is happening to it anymore.

The question that actually helped was simpler: am I someone he wants to keep choosing, today, as I actually am. That's something only I can answer, by just being here, imperfect and real and still showing up.

(Not about me but someone out there might feel the same way)