You know what is heart wrenchingly terrible?
Not the fact we don’t talk anymore
[Though I’ve gotten quite used to the silence]
Not the fact that your backseat will no longer look forward to my visits
[There’s nothing like skin against skin and fog against windows]
Not the fact that my sheets have slowly lost your scent
[I screamed at my mother for washing my sheets the Tuesday after you decided to leave]
Although all of those thoughts are horrible
The worst is
I’m forgetting the color of your eyes