Hardly revolutionary. Nothing I can say is. And nothing changes, either. Because my heart’s still in my mouth, and maybe that’s normalcy, you know?

If there was one promise I made, I’ve broken it, because it was ONE: Don’t be vulnerable again. But I’m letterbox watching because hearing from you’s the absolute pop of a day.

There were reasons layered like winter looks in overpriced magazines that don’t tell me things the internet couldn’t. And I’d tell myself this when you’d resurface like badly buried soil bulbs.

Not the priority. And that’s my biggest problem, isn’t it? Wasn’t it? Won’t that always be it?

We say there’s no way of stopping. But I wonder what happens the day you decide to. Another 8 years of apple drownings on Halloween, promises I can’t keep, comparisons like you’re Brad Pitt. And what if?