It’s the good ones that wreck me.
The roof. The stars. His hand finding mine in the dark like it had always lived there.
The way he laughed when I said something stupid.
Those fucking blue eyes.
• • •
I want to reach inside myself and pull every piece of him out.
Every memory, every feeling, every place he carved his name into me.
But if I did that, I don’t know what would be left.
That’s the thing I can’t figure out.
I don’t know who I am without him.
I let him hold so much of me for so long that I don’t know what’s mine anymore.
I don’t think there’s anything left over.
Maybe that’s the real problem.
Maybe college fixes that too.
• • •
I don’t stop the pills.
I should say that plainly.
I don’t stop.
I start buying extra from someone at school so the prescription doesn’t run out before it’s supposed to, so my parents don’t notice the math not adding up.
I tell myself it’s fine.
I tell myself I’m just taking the edge off.
I tell myself I’ll stop when things get better.
Things will get better.
I’ll be back to normal.
I’ll smile again hopefully sometime soon before I forget how to.
• • •
I’m here trying because I love my parents so much it makes me ache.
The way they keep showing up. Keep leaving extra food on the counter, keep suggesting movies, keep not pushing — giving me space and presence at the same time like they’ve always known exactly how much of each I need.
I wish I could give them their son back.
The one who was full of things. Who didn’t have to work this hard just to be in a room.
