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Whenever I let myself think about the beginning, I want to get out of this moment as much as I want to wallow in it.
There’s so much we need to say to each other, which means there’s nothing we can say to each other.
So familiar it pulls at the space in my chest that’s never forgotten what he meant to me.
Because you’re good enough, even after you fall short.� Because some part of me wants to forgive him for that.
feeling the same way I did in kindergarten when my dad couldn’t make it to that holiday concert. At six, I looked out into the audience and didn’t have a touchstone. At twenty-three, it was the same.
