one day, you’re going to be sitting at your kitchen table, drinking your second morning coffee while sun streams in through the window. and on your third or fifth or maybe seventh sip, it’s going to hit you like a train. everything you’ve lost. all the memories we could’ve made. if you want to, leave. but don’t you dare call me at nine a.m. on my favorite day of the week, hyperventilating while you sob into your mug, to tell me how much you need me. - don’t you dare. hear me?