a ghost named Bails

he still calls me Bails.

sixteen years have passed. cities changed, faces aged, lovers came and went, but the nickname never did. sometimes it lands in my inbox like a ghost from another decade, small and familiar, stripped of the weight it once carried but still sharp enough to sting.

Bails is the version of me who still believed love could fix people, that promises could outlast timezones and distance. now, hearing it feels like standing in the doorway of a house we burned down, and seeing the wallpaper still intact.

Bails was a girl who thought love was proof of goodness. i let her go a long time ago. he never did.