i forgot how to write. all of the pain and sadness and longing twists and bends into guilt and shame and boredom. growing up *****. younger me would be ******* thrilled to see herself now, which makes me wonder when this stopped being enough for her. i got greedy. or just needy. waffles for breakfast yesterday morning. you said they were the best you'd ever had. i want to make them for you until your teeth fall out and my fingers turn crooked and all that's left to do is find out whether we'll eat breakfast together in the next life or was this the last time i'll watch you **** the syrup off your finger?  i grieve going to sleep oblivious to what i'd wake up to. nearing the end of a book, realizing you've read it before, but forgot the ending. what if it *****?