The Elbow

I'm the elbow in her dating profile.

I was doing the thing you do at 2 AM after a bad week. Hinge. Not to match, just to feel something. Swipe, swipe, swipe. Then a photo stopped my thumb cold.

Beach. Sunset. Laughing with her head tipped back, wind in her hair, wearing the yellow dress. Gorgeous.

Her name was Hannah. Of course it was.

I took that photo. Last summer, in Cornwall. I remember the exact moment, because I told her she looked like an ad for happiness, and she hit me with her hat.

She'd cropped it, obviously. Sharp edges. But on the far right, barely there, you can still see a piece of a sleeve. A grey, faded sleeve.

My hoodie. My elbow.

I scrolled down to her prompts. "The way to win me over is..." and she'd written, "Remember the small things. Stay when it's boring."

I felt that one in my ribs.

I didn't stay when it was boring. That was the whole problem. I left because everything started feeling ordinary, and I mistook ordinary for over. Turns out ordinary was the good part.

So I swiped. Not left, not right. I just stared. Like a coward at a window.

She chose that photo, out of every photo she's got.

Out of all the ones she could've picked, she picked the one where I'm still half in the frame.

I'm not even in her life anymore.

But somehow, I'm still in the picture.