last night, i'm sitting there, stuck at the train behind my house. trying desperately NOT to think about anything anymore. thinking about Bram. thinking about the future. thinking about the catfish in the seat next to me for dinner.
when i decide to look to my left, to the where house. where i used to spend most of my time. oh, look, casey has covered the windows at the top with blankets. oh....
and there starring back at me from across the street is your blanket. the one we kept at our apartment the first week we got it.
i hate that i notice things like this. being detail oriented means i'm great at my job, an amazing cook, and have a knack for decorating... but it also means there are pieces of you everywhere, in the corners of my mind, in the window of the where house, that i'm desperately trying to ignore or forget.
i don't have to be your tragedy
just let me close & you'll see