i drew a line for you

“Please don’t ignore me.” She says, “please don’t ignore what we had.” “I know it wasn’t much but it was something and I don’t know a lot but I know you made me happier than I was before.” “God I miss that.” She says. “Just tell me you miss it too? You don’t have to come back.” She says, “just say you do.”

How someone reacts to your sadness says a lot about how long they’re going to be in your life.

Please don’t get tired of me.

“Sometimes I think I’d like to start again,” she says. “I would go someplace far away where no one knew my name.” “I could dye my hair blue or pink or completely white, and call myself Duchess. I’d pack a toothbrush and a case full of cash and I swear I wouldn’t look back - not once.” “Then I wake up,” she shakes her head, “and think how selfish it is to be able to leave all this behind.” “What does it say about me that I can run away so easily? What does it say about what I’m leaving behind?”

“Come over,” she says “and we can kiss a lot and play stupid games. You can do that thing where you bite my neck and I’ll grab your crotch and catch your eye and I’ll laugh. Let me run my hands through your hair like it’s the North Atlantic Ocean and we can forget.” “Come over,” she says, “we can pretend like it never ended. I’m good at pretending goodbyes never happened.”

This is how writers fall in love: they feel complicated together and then they talk about it.