He resigned, and on his way out sent the standard warm exit line — "we should catch up sometime." Genuine, probably. The kind of thing you mean when you type it.

I never replied. Not because I didn't want to. I fully intend to, every single week. I see it, I think "yeah I should," and then something more urgent lands on top and it slides one line lower in the inbox. Then another. Then it disappears below the fold entirely and my brain files it under "done" even though it's the opposite of done.

Then, at random — showering, driving, half-asleep — his name floats back up and the guilt resets. Full strength, like no time has passed. I promise myself I'll reply tomorrow. Tomorrow it's buried again.

Six months of this loop now. At this point replying feels almost worse than not, because how do you explain the silence? So it just sits there, quietly indicting me, and I keep losing the same small argument with myself on repeat.