“OMG!” I smile to myself when an old friend’s Instagram post crosses my feed.
The giant heart pings across the post. Fondness fills my chest as I celebrate quietly for my old friend.
Days later, she comments on one of mine. “Should I respond?” I debate with myself, biting my lip while my thumbs hover over the keyboard. “Nah.” I decide sorrowfully, “I don’t want her to think I want to reconnect like that.”
I swipe up out of the app.
Guilt follows me into the real world. The boundary eats away at me.
Sometimes, it’s easier to be a bitch.
Sometimes.
I don’t want them to relearn this version of me. The rejection would ruin me.
I want them to remember me as I was.
And it hurts to know that the ghost of me still dwells in someone else’s memories.
