“I used to pretend I was sick when I had a test in school.”

     Agreeing to help Juliana pack up her shit was proving to be a SPECTACULAR mistake. Every single thing Jesse picked up had some kind of meaning behind it. A memory. Seemingly ARBITRARY items would elicit such a POWERFUL emotional reaction that Jesse had trouble keeping his tears at bay. Looking around him at the room filled to the BRIM with bittersweet memories and collections of nostalgic anecdotes, he began to feel almost SUFFOCATED, surrounded with reminders of a new and painful wound. Jesse sighed. 

     He stood from his position on the floor in the living room and looked over his shoulder at the open door to his -- no -- THEIR bedroom, at the half-empty moving boxes and stacks of movies and music that they were DEFINITELY going to fight over. He didn’t want Juliana to leave. But if she couldn’t trust him, how could he expect her to STAY?

     His body seemed to move on its own, as though it were controlled by some UNSEEN force. Jesse felt like he was watching his own life through two feet of glass, standing by idly while someone else moved him to the doorway of their bedroom. He leaned against the doorframe, staring at the back of Juliana’s head for a few seconds before speaking. It was hard to look at her. 

     “I, uh... I finished the kitchen,” He’d finished it hours ago. Didn’t know why he so DESPERATELY wanted to speak with her. It was too quiet in that apartment. “You need any help in here?”

“IN ALL HONESTY?? i never really understood the flower crown trend. . . . i think i’d rather grow them, than wear them, y’know?”