I wear our memories on my sleeve like paintings on a wall. I soak in our laughter like sun-soaked curtains on a bright afternoon. I recall your voice in my head like a record player stuck on repeat.
Do you want to pack your bags and move in as badly as we do?
I still find it hard to forget what you’ve done. I still find it hard not to picture the life we could have had if you didn’t selfishly tear it all apart.
The strength to love your mess, even when you feel unworthy.