The List

I wrote a list in my Notes app. "Things I'll tell him when he comes back." It's 112 lines long.

His name was Dylan. We split in March. I thought he'd come back, the way they do in films. A knock at the door, rain, a speech. So every time something happened, I wrote it down. A reminder for the reunion. A bank of stories for the day he returned.

"I got a promotion." "I learned to parallel park." "I finally watched that documentary you kept talking about." "I cut my hair and then regretted it." "I met your favourite band's drummer in a lift." "I cried at a baby shark video, no idea why."

It became a habit. A little diary for a boy who'd never read it.

Last night, 2 AM, I scrolled through it. All hundred and twelve lines. Seven months of small wins and smaller heartbreaks. I laughed at some. Winced at others.

And around line seventy, a strange feeling crept up my spine.

I read it again. Slowly. This time, not as a message to him. As a message from me.

"I got a promotion." Nobody asked how I was feeling.

"I learned to parallel park." Nobody was there to cheer.

"I cried at a baby shark video." Nobody asked why.

Not one of the hundred and twelve lines had a single thing to do with Dylan.

They were all things I wanted someone to ask me.

I closed the app.

And called my sister.