The Day You Became a Memory

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The day you became a memory was an ordinary Tuesday, enveloped in a soft Canadian winter. I remember standing at the corner of Elgin and Wellington, the Parliament Hill looming in the background. The scent of freshly roasted coffee from the nearby café blended with the crisp winter air, and the soft hum of Ottawa morning traffic was my only company.

I remember the exact moment when my phone buzzed - a message from you. I was standing under the pale February sun, my breath visible in the sharp morning air. I remember the ice crystals on the nearby maple trees, sparkling as if studded with diamonds.

The message was short, simple, yet it held the weight of a thousand unsaid words - "I need to move on." Just like that, you became a memory. A memory that would be revisited a thousand times but would never change.

My heart echoed with a dull pain. The taste of our shared dreams turned bitter. The world around me moved on, oblivious to my silent turmoil. The rhythm of my life was disrupted, a melody paused mid-note.

In the days that followed, I found myself walking the streets of Ottawa, tracing the paths we had once walked together. The Rideau Canal, frozen and silent, mirrored my state - a once bubbling stream now trapped in a winter of emotions. Each place, each moment bore your imprint, making your absence more pronounced.

As time went on, the pain became a dull ache, your memory a bitter-sweet symphony. Ottawa, once a shared city, became my solace - the backdrop to my healing. I found comfort in the Ottawa River's constant flow, a reminder that life goes on. Your memory became a part of me, a part of my story.

Yet, I often wonder, does moving on mean forgetting? As I stand here, on the bridge overlooking the city we once called ours, I can't help but question - Should I let your memory fade or hold on to it as a precious part of my past?