Someone from my past walked back into my life.

Not with flowers.

Not with apologies.

Not with some grand explanation.

Just presence.

And I’ll be honest —

the chemistry is still there.

The late-night calls.

The intellectual foreplay.

The tension that doesn’t need touching to exist.

It’s easy to get swept up in that.

Old me would have.

Old me would’ve romanticized the hell out of this.

Turned it into fate.

Ignored the fact that I was once left standing somewhere waiting.

But I’m not her anymore.

We call it a “clean slate.”

Fine.

But clean doesn’t mean clueless.

Clean doesn’t mean memory loss.

Clean doesn’t mean I pretend you never let me down.

It means I’m not dragging the past into the present —

but I’m not stupid enough to forget it either.

You don’t get to disappear once

and expect blind trust twice.

Here’s the truth:

I enjoy him.

I enjoy the mind games.

I enjoy the spark.

But I don’t need it.

And that’s the power shift.

If he stays, cool.

If he leaves again, cool.

I won’t spiral.

I won’t beg.

I won’t chase.

I’ve already rebuilt myself once.

I’m not doing it again for anyone.

This time I’m watching.

Not waiting.

Not hoping.

Not fantasizing.

Watching.

Because consistency isn’t proven at 4 AM on the phone.

It’s proven when the sun is up.

And I’ve learned to live in the daylight