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𝚂𝚌𝚊𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚛

Amy had learned the hard way that the past was not some distant grave she could walk away from. It had claws, and it ripped at her whenever it wanted. She could build something new, pour herself into it until the days started to taste clean again, and then out of nowhere a name would light up her screen, a ghost with enough nerve to speak like time and distance had earned them a place in her present.

The worst part was how fast the memories bled in, uninvited. A smell, a song, the sound of their voice if she let herself read the words in it, all of it like splinters working their way back to the surface. She could be happy, she could be loved, and still the past would sneak in with a blade small enough to slip and twist between her ribs.

She had stopped believing in clean slates a long time ago. There was no such thing. Even when she scrubbed the walls and filled the room with light, the shadows knew how to creep back in. The past followed her like a parasite, waiting for the quiet, slipping in the second she thought it was safe to breathe.

There was always someone ready to kick the door in, someone who knew exactly where it would hurt most. And when they did, it was never just the moment they were in that broke her. It was every time before, crashing back all at once, until she was standing in the memories again, wondering why she ever thought she had escaped.