he is never going to love me,
and I am never going to ask him to.

sometimes, I think about the day I lost you.
it didn't come in waves, like I was accustomed to.
a single tsunami washed over me,
knocked me out, and I forgot how to breathe.
I was petrified because it was like you took me with you
and my body wasn't my home anymore.
a large part of me died with you that day.
they told me that that part would get smaller over time,
but I'm not so sure that's true. I had no say in the matter.
all I could do was lay on my cousin's couch
until the water drained from my lungs.

when I was younger, I wish that somebody told me
that happiness is free. it's watching the lightning storm
on the balcony by the beach with your family.
it’s dancing barefoot to Steely Dan
in the kitchen with your little sister,
even though neither of you know the words.
it’s laughing harder than you ever have before
in the back of the red pickup truck.
it’s you best friend telling you that she wouldn’t have
survived the summer without you.
these small moments add up
to a greater sum than you won in the lottery.

I don't know if I care if anyone ever loves me again.
I think he might love me enough for the entire world.

driving home isn't nearly as exciting
if there's no one waiting for you
on the other side of the door.

you know that it’s really over
when you can’t remember
their phone number anymore,
even though you’ve had it
memorized since the third grade.

things are not at all like they used to be.
I know that I am selfish,
but I never wanted you to go through this
without me.