When this is over, I will take you with me, far away from this wretched place. We will have two children, a boy and a girl, and as many dogs as you’d like. I don’t care if we travel a lot or if we travel through books. I long for the day when I don’t have to cry every time I have to go to work. We are far from perfect and we’ve hurt each other countless times over the years. None of that matters now. I am yours, and you are mine.
My home is in your arms.
Because we can’t rewind.
I realize I have been unkind. But his touch no longer elicits what it used to. Years ago, when we used to fight almost everyday, I wrote a short story about how one day the girl (me) just got tired, and the couple (us) ended up as mere roommates. I never understood how one can be so close to another person and yet feel so far, so alone, until now.
living alone.
