The Person You Choose
I leaned against the railing, letting the small movements of my hands and feet ground me.
“I’m glad you’re not my person anymore,” I said.
“I have my own people now,” he said. “Students. Friends. The family we built. You have yours. We chose this.”
The hug we shared was sibling-shaped, warm, sufficient. Love without romantic complications. Love that was quiet, enough, boundary-conscious.
“Grayson?” Dante asked quietly, just for me.
“Distance,” I said. “Persistence. The love that is memory and present and still uncertain. Still trying.”
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