They keep asking where I am. Where Spider-M@n is.

And every time I hear it-on the news, in a café, through a stranger's phone-it feels like they're not just talking about the suit. It feels like they're talking about me. The part I buried. The part I miss.

I'm still here. Sort of. Walking the same streets. Breathing the same air. But it's not the same when I'm not swinging over rooftops or hearing her laugh from the fire escape before I land.

God, her laugh. That was the last thing I heard before I walked away.

I told myself it was to protect her. To protect us, if that even makes sense now. She never asked me to give it up. She just looked at me like she already knew I would.

She was everything I was fighting for. And still—| let her go.

There's this version of me that still visits her apartment. That still sneaks in at 2 a.m. through her window with bruised knuckles and a crumpled paper bag of takeout. That still gets to kiss her shoulder while she's half asleep and say, "It's over now. I'm here." But that version isn't real anymore.

I pass her street sometimes. I see the lights still on. I wonder if she's waiting. I wonder if she hates me.

But mostly—| wonder what we could've been, if I didn't have to choose.

I wasn't just Spider-M@n with her. I was still me. Still Lando. Still the boy who couldn't believe she looked at me like that.

And in another life, maybe that would've been enough. Maybe we would've made it to the finish line. Maybe I wouldn't be out here pretending I don't miss her every second of the day.

They keep asking where Spider-M@n is. They never ask if I'm okay.

And honestly? I don't think I am.

Because she was my peace. And I walked away from it.