I don't visit graves.
Never saw the point.
If Andrea's dead, she's not there. And if she isn't… then I don't want to stand somewhere pretending I know.
So I sit on the steps instead. Concrete. Cold. The kind of place she liked because it didn't ask questions.
They say she disappeared.
Like she misplaced herself.
Like it was an accident.
I don't buy it — not completely. Andrea never did anything halfway. But she also never did anything just because the world pushed her there.
People talk about her like she was a storm.
They forget storms get tired too.
I remember the small stuff.
How she used to lean her head against my shoulder without warning — like she needed to check I was still real.
How she hated being asked if she was okay, but loved being asked if she wanted company.
How she slept like she was always ready to wake up fighting.
She told me once she didn't think she'd live long.
Not dramatic. Just honest.
"I don't see an old version of me," she said, staring at nothing. "Do you?"
I lied.
I told her yes.
That's the thing I regret most.
Not the fights. Not the blood. Not the ending.
Lying to her when she trusted me with the truth.
If she's gone, then I hope she didn't think she failed.
She didn't.
She carried things that should've crushed all of us — and she kept going anyway. Longer than anyone expected. Longer than she expected.
And if she's alive somewhere…
I hope she finally stopped bracing for impact.
I hope she learned that love doesn't always mean staying.
That surviving doesn't always mean fighting.
That leaving can be an act of mercy — not weakness.
Sometimes I imagine her walking through a city where no one knows her name.
No history. No fear.
Just a girl buying coffee, complaining about the weather, blending into the noise.
She always wanted quiet. She just didn't know how to ask for it.
If she's dead… then I forgive her.
If she's alive…
I don't need her to come back.
I just need her to know this:
She was loved.
Not for what she survived.
Not for what she destroyed.
But for who she was when she let her guard down — even just a little.
And if that version of her still exists somewhere in the world?
Then yeah.
That's enough for me.