i think the scary thing about ‘losing’ somebody (not to death but just a parting of ways in general) is that depending on how close you let them get to you, they saw you for who you honestly were. it’s like if somebody takes a candid photograph of you and then keeps it from you. they get to take that snapshot, that moment or fraction of you, and bring it with them.
sometimes they distort the image out of bitterness, or anger, and even jealousy. and they share that misconception of you with others. and those other people will hear your name and pin that ugly thing next to it and say “oh I heard about them”. and that’s the thing. they didn’t see you, they just heard about you. they haven’t had the chance to get behind the viewfinder and capture that raw and real photograph of you. a memory of you that is all their own. something special and unique between the two of you.
and sometimes people take their photographs of you and put them in a box under their beds, inside a desk drawer, or shoved between books and loose paper. you’re still there, floating around. but out of sight, out of mind. you do it too, you know. everyone does.
but then there are those people, even though you haven’t heard from them in years, who have your special candid photograph framed. right next to their beds. and you don’t even know. maybe you never will. but there you are. your stupid expression, your laughing grin, that embarrassing haircut. right where they left you.