Cassian. I love you. That’s all. I just needed to say it one more time. I love you. I’m sorry.
• • •
He reads it.
Nothing.
I put the phone face down.
Close my eyes.
And somewhere in the soft dark that the pills make —
I think about being eight years old.
About blue eyes through a fence.
About something being decided before either of us had a say.
I think about the roof.
His hand finding mine in the dark.
Like it was the simplest thing.
I think about my mom.
Her hands on my face.
It is absolutely not you.
I think about the blue daisy he once gave me.
Before.
When things were different.
When I still thought love was enough to hold something together.
I think —
I’m so tired.
I’m so tired of holding on.
I reach for the bottle.
And this time —
I stop counting.
I lose track of what I've taken and I tell myself that's fine, that's just sleep, just the soft dark I need to get through to morning.
My phone is still in my hand when I stop being able to feel my hands.
The last thing I see is his name on the screen.
The last thing I think is that I didn't mean for it to go this far.
