I think about someone filling the Becca-shaped space that I left. or maybe I stayed put and you left. maybe my space has been collecting dust, waiting for you to want me to fill it again. the space that silently begs you "step into me". I think about someone else filling that Becca-shaped space and a crater opens in my chest. I know they’ll need more space than I ever did. because they will demand more space than I ever did. their space will be intertwined and wrapped around yours like they share DNA. I wish my space wasn’t so small. that I didn’t have to soften my backbone and be so malleable that I could, and would, twist any which way for you. but the thing is, you never asked me to.