So she writes

I miss the days when it was so easy to remove someone from your life. Move to California, change your phone number, become non-existent to certain others. But now? You can do all these things. You can change who you are, you can change zip codes but now? Now it's like they're knocking on your door asking to come in. This damn Internet, these damn sites that promise connections with long lost friends but where's the disclaimer about long lost individuals you'd prefer to never find again. The ones you donated to some thrift store and now it's landed right back in your hands?

A name. Two simple names appear on a screen but it might as well had slapped you in the face. Days, months, years pretending like these people never existent. Like you and their past never crossed paths now here they are sitting with you in your living room while you sip your cup of tea. They here and quite uninvited like those damn carpenter ants you worked so hard rid your house of.

Go away you want to say. Go back to where I safely put you. I've moved on. I've grown beyond those years, you have no business here. But I can't do these things. All this girl can do is write, so she writes. And she sips her tea and listens to children play, her cat snore and looks forward to seeing her loving husband walk through that door. That loving husband who lives his life as if you have nothing to hide from.