Moving on is for chumps

Moving on is different for everyone, and eventually, you’ll never think of them again.

Is what I hear from everyone.

But I still remember when I was in preschool and I refused to build my block castle with a random boy. I remember how he ran to the teacher and she made me apologize to him. I remember how I resented that boy more than anyone else in the world for at least a year.

I still remember that my best friend in fourth grade used to try counting my freckles. She always gave up after 30, and said that there must just be more than the last time she counted them.

I still remember the words of people I never cared about, still hear them in my head when I look in the mirror or try on clothes or do math.

I doubt that I’ll be able to forget someone who actually mattered to me, if I still remember all these insignificant things.