One through five (moved here, deleted there).

One.

I want to tell our story. I want a place to send the letters and sentences that I’m not allowed to say. I want you to stop being a monster. I want all of this to get better.


Two.
-


Three.

I love you because everything about you resonates home.


Four.
-


Five.

I read that this is grieving. And that in grieving you should talk about the memories that swirl around your head in order to remove them from your system.

Things. Like how my hair seems to have gotten much longer since the last time we slept together. How you always pulled the elastic out of it so you could run your hands through. And grabbed a hard fistful when you came. Is that too much? Should I not say that here? Okay, more cleanly, I still collect songs for you. Can’t listen to other ones because of you. That is stupid. Everyone always parallels relationships and ends of relationships to songs. So now I’m trite. Whatever. There are a thousand things to worry about, attempting to be atypical is not on my list.

I’m mad at you. For not finding a reason to invite me over. For not asking to see all of my work before I mailed it away. Now you won’t ever see it. I don’t care if you would have liked it, I didn’t want praise. I wanted to share it with you. Simple.

I miss sleeping next to you. I’m sorry that I said that I would never want to live with you. I didn’t mean it. In fact, I meant the opposite but I was afraid that it would scare you. I probably would have been right, but either way I wasn’t going to win.