To the part of ourselves that lingers.

A day after James and I stopped seeing each other, I went back on the Hinge app and started going through the backlog of guys who had liked me during the three weeks I’d been off the app—because I was dating James.

One guy in particular stood out. His name was Phil (short for Phillip with two Ls), and out of everyone I replied to, I secretly hoped he would be the one to text me back. Fortune had it—he was the only one who actually did. We connected deeply, on so many levels. Mutual interests like gaming, movies, writing, and reading. Deep thoughts. Long messages. Quick wit. All of it.

We scheduled a date for the upcoming Saturday, and in the days leading up to it, we exchanged texts and even had a phone call that lasted three hours. When the day arrived, we met at a restaurant called Universal on Bygone Street in the city—halfway between us. We live about an hour and twenty minutes apart, seventy-five kilometers to be exact.

I felt comfortable within the first five minutes of meeting him. We talked about our lives, our careers, relationships—everything in between. To both of us, the date went extremely well.

There was just one problem.

Philip had recently come out of a seven-year relationship. It’s been just three months. He told me this upfront, even before the date, and gave me the choice to continue or not. I said yes—I was happy to go along for the ride. But I had my doubts. Can someone truly move on after just three months from something that deep? Is the heart really healed enough to let someone else in?

I didn’t have to wonder for long.

The next night, he sent me a message saying that while he had a really great time, he needed to be honest with himself. He realized he’s not looking for anything serious right now—he’s still in a healing space.

And I understood.

He said he’d still like to hang out, if I wanted to. When I asked about boundaries, he said he was happy with hugging, cuddling, and sex—what he confirmed as friends with benefits. I told him I was okay with that.

What happened with Paul a few months ago taught me something important: to accept people for the version they are now, not the version I hope they’ll become. That means I’m not holding out hope that Phil will heal and, at the end of that process, suddenly open the door for something more. That’s a nice fantasy, but it’s not healthy. It creates pressure. It sets expectations. And it prevents me from loving or showing up for who someone is, in the present moment.

So I told myself: I’ll keep living my life with him in it, as a friend, maybe something physical, but I won’t invest my heart too deeply. I’ll protect that part of myself. I’ll save it for someone special.

A few days later, I met someone new on Hinge. His name is Angelo. He’s from the Philippines, eight years younger than me. I’ve dated someone with that age gap before—it was wonderful. Angelo is 27. He’s building his career, his home, his life. We vibed.

We had our first date just a few days ago—home-cooked dinner, movies, a lot of cuddling. He’s already excited for our second date, which we’ve planned for next week.

But here’s the truth.

A part of me is still with Phil.

The situation is messy as hell.

I still have feelings for him. I’m being honest about that. And because of that, I can’t fully give myself to Angelo—not right now. I can feel the imbalance. The way Angelo likes me, versus how much of myself I can actually give back. It’s uneven. And I find myself caught between two worlds, two men—splitting my heart without fully cutting the tether to Phil.

So now I lay here in bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what to do.

What would closure look like with Phil?

What would surrendering myself fully to Angelo look like—for him, and for me?

I take a deep breath.

And I trust myself.

I have faith in myself.

That I’ll walk out of these woods in one piece.