i hope i linger

“your name is probably a sensitive subject in someone’s relationship.”

I saw a caption the other day; it said, “your name is probably a sensitive subject in someone’s relationship,” and I hope its true. I hope that whenever my name is mentioned, even in passing, your body trembles with need. I hope your eyes glaze over as you wet your lips, your mind trapped in a random memory of us that’s both faded and vivid, like the whisper of a touch you can almost feel.

I hope your fingers twitch to curl around the phantom warmth of my hand, still shaped to fit perfectly in yours. I pray your skin prickles with the ghost of my touch, your hands clenching and unclenching as they ache to hold onto something that’s no longer there. I hope that when laughter echoes around you, you strain your ears bloody to hear my laugh, searching for the curve of my smile on every pair of lips.

I hope my name catches in your throat, leaving you raw and parched, desperate for something that isn’t there. I hope that in the deep stillness of the night, you feel me there beside you, my breath grazing your skin, my scent lingering like smoke, impossible to escape. That you close your eyes only to find my face, that familiar tilt of my head, that look in my eyes that used to be yours alone. I hope that when you dream of me, you wake up in tears that only I can kiss away.

I hope that when she hears my name, your new lover, her heart trembles with a rage she can’t explain. I hope my very existence presses down on her, a weight of grief and envy she tries and fails to shake off. I hope she lies awake, wondering what piece of you will always be mine, if the joke you told her today was one that made me smile.

I hope she searches for me on every list, in every room, and that my absence is her only relief. I hope she thinks of me on the bad days, when things between you two grow sour and tense. I hope there’s a moment where she pauses and, without meaning to, asks herself, “What would she do?” I hope my shadow slips into the space between you two, a silent reminder of what was. I hope she studies the curve of your smile and wonders if that’s the same smile I could pull out of you.

I hope that she finds herself glancing at you, searching your eyes for signs of me, wondering if, in your happiest moments with her, it’s me you see. I hope it eats at her, this knowledge, that no matter how many times she tries, she’ll never quite replace the part of you that still belongs to me.

I hope she wonders if some piece of you still longs for what we had. I hope she measures herself against me, questioning whether she could ever fill the space I left behind. And I hope it lingers—this unshakeable sense of comparison, whispering to her that I’m still there, somewhere between you two—a quiet, constant reminder of the love that refuses to fade.

And still, I hope. I hope the smallest things draw you back to me, to us, no matter how hard you try to leave it behind. I hope she sees it, too, in the way your eyes search for me in every room and on every list, in the way your pulse rockets when my name is mentioned, and in the way your breath hitches in the silence that follows, as if my name still holds power. I hope it’s visible in the silence that falls after you whisper my name, heavy with emotions, too many to name.

I hope you both feel it, the weight of what we were. I hope a part of you forever aches, knowing that it will never feel quite the same. That no matter how many days or years pass, my presence remains.

And I hope it’s unbearable—this longing. I hope it settles in your chest like a weight you can’t lift, pressing against your ribs, making each breath burn. I want my name to haunt the corners of your mind, slipping in when you least expect it. I hope it claws at you, refusing to be silenced, and that the world feels emptier, even as it spins on around you.

I hope I linger.