It’s honestly a problem.
Eleven years and he’s still the most annoyingly beautiful person I’ve ever seen and he knows it and uses it to get away with things.
I let him.
Every time.
I always will.
• • •
The drive is quiet in the good way.
His hand finding mine on the center console.
The radio low.
Neither of us needing to fill it.
• • •
The funeral feels like something that happened to someone else.
The wake too.
I was barely present through any of it.
Existing in that soft blurry place the extra pills made.
Going through motions.
Shaking hands.
Accepting hugs from people whose names I didn’t register.
I don’t think I said goodbye.
Not really.
Not in any way that counted.
Maybe that’s what’s been sitting on my chest.
This unsaid thing.
• • •
We park.
Cassian waits by the car without being asked.
I carry the daisies.
I spend an hour at her grave.
I tell her everything.
I tell her about Cassian.
