Jun 17, 2012
Today I threw away the sheets we laid in together at least a hundred times. The ones that hid my scars before you told me it was okay to let you see them, the ones I wrapped myself in when you promised you'd come back. And I crawled into my bed that's two sizes bigger than the one we shared, peeling back my black sheets and thinking how they were the exact opposite of those thin white covers that held your scent no matter how many times I washed them. For the life of me, I can't remember what color your sheets were. I remember your desk with the coffee stain and your ironically positioned guitar but not the color of the sheets on that crooked bed by the window.Â
