Used to Be

You love that you can still remember everything. Because it’s all you have left. The memories. The faint smell of that cologne on his police department t-shirt that you never returned. You love that you can still see him sitting on the couch, watching him watch A Walk To Remember, and recalling how it was the first time he cried in front of you – but it wouldn’t be the last.

Pinocchio’s Strings

“Lies, my dear boy, can easily be recognized. There are two kinds of them: those with short legs, and those with long noses.” – Carlo Collodi, Pinocchio

Destroy What Destroys You

“And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.

– Haruki Murakami

An Open Letter to the Man I (Still) Love

It’s been over a year and a half since the last time we held hands. It’s not even the handholding that I miss most though. It’s not the interrupted conversation kisses, the lovemaking, or even the Thanksgivings up in Oregon with your family. It’s the fact that I lost my best friend. That’s not me idealizing anything – that’s just the truth.

Time

I pulled out all of my old pictures this morning. Printed, not digital. Remember when we used to do that? Pick up our photos from Walgreens or Long’s or Costco. Remember the tangible? The things we could feel with both our hands and our hearts. I think I am addicted to nostalgia. So I look, knowing even the good times will hurt, too.