I could live like this, with my head in your hands and my hands on your hips. If we took our time, the world might collapse under our feet, but if things moved faster, everything we built up would be in vain. I wrote three words on a cardboard box in December, put my best foot forward, took a deep breath. I found the words I spoke to be a big, big mess. Fingers crossed. I’ve never said a word I didn’t mean.

So these are the things I miss the most. The promises we made, the one-liners we whispered, the evenings spent alone concocting scenarios of our future in our heads. I miss your breath on my chest, the way my name rolled off your lips. I miss the nights we spent in my van pretending all we had was each other, the way I had to fight to earn your father’s approval, and the way he was actually excited when I wore pants that fit me instead of those tiny ones you used to tease me about.

I miss Decembers and I miss Tuesdays. Tuesdays in December were grand.

Related Posts

No related posts.