Sometimes a memory hits me so hard it feels like my body is trying to reject it. Like I’m overheating with regret. My face flushes, my chest tightens, and I get this crawling need to physically leave the moment — even though it’s in my own head.

It happened tonight. I remembered a text I sent to my best friend. One of those long, honest ones. Full of feelings and softness and probably some over-explaining, because that’s what I do when I care too hard and can’t figure out where the line is. I don’t even remember exactly what I said — just how it felt after I sent it. That rush of shit, maybe I shared too much.

We go through phases — close, then distant, then almost strangers. She doesn’t really let people in. But I do. I always do. And in that moment, I had shared something real. I had unzipped myself, and she said something polite in return. Polite, and empty.

And now, out of nowhere, my brain has decided to show me that moment again. No warning. Just here you go: your shame in full color. I feel my ears get hot. I feel stupid. Like I handed someone my heart and they set it down somewhere and forgot about it.

I wish I could be kinder to that version of me. The one who wanted connection more than pride. The one who didn’t know yet that not everyone is capable of meeting you in the middle.