We're playing Animal Crossing. The little town is sadly overgrown with weeds, and most animals have moved away. He logs on and explores, it's all new to him. He talks to an animal, who chirps about a resident named "justy". Oh. My ex-boyfriend. We used to play the game together, of course.

Strange how his presence remains here, on this little memory card, in the the memories of my neighbors who rhapsodize about his letter-writing skills or the fact that they used to play and play and play all day.

Like in my real life, among friends who remember him fondly. There's no sense of competition or comparison, but still - there was someone before, and that will never change.

We start a new town - Pariset, named after the city we visited last summer together. But Gaston the grumpy rabbit quickly moves in, bringing with him justy's letters. "I wonder what happened to that cat?" he asks in his grumpy way. He's not here anymore. But the animals still remember him.

I consider demolishing justy's house. But it seems wrong! What about all his furniture, his letters - would they all disappear too? The thought makes me sad.

The new boyfriend marvels at how patiently I write letters to each of our town's inhabitants, flattering them and telling them how much I'd miss them if they moved away. After two years of intermittently playing the game, I understand their simplistic little souls. And in spite of myself, I am fond of them, assigning them equally little tiny pieces of my heart. Perhaps someday the recipients of my letters will convey them elsewhere, taking with them traces of me...