The address book outlives some of the people it continues to place in the world.

Records keep working after the people in them stop. A name and a street sit there in your handwriting, still assigning that person a location in the world, long after the location has emptied. The strange ache is that the list is not wrong exactly, it is simply still doing its job, holding a place open.

There is no need to correct these entries quickly, and no obligation to keep them either. If you come across one, you might let yourself sit with it rather than scroll past. And while the addresses are still live, consider using one. The visit you keep meaning to make has a window, and the window is made of time.