Five hundred days had passed since I left Manhattan—and I’m still counting. It’s been almost two years since I walked away from Johnny... and I’m glad to say I’ve actually found a better version of myself.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss him—that I didn’t dare look his name up in the news or flip through magazines, hoping to catch a glimpse of his face.
There was a huge part of me that thought maybe he’d come looking for me. That he’d plaster my name and photo on billboards, or call the police and report me as a missing person. Me.
But I guess even if I vanished off the planet for more than a whole day, no one would come searching.
Back then, I thought he meant every word he said. I felt his words. They sank straight into my chest like they belonged there. I heard the sincerity in
