Your number is still in my phone. Part of me refuses to delete it because doing so seems like the final admission of your leaving.
Part of me wants to say, “I don’t know how this happened!” But I do.
yesterday i’m not sure what compelled me to seek out my copy of emily dickinson’s poetry, but i couldn’t leave for work until i had it in my hands. the front flap was tucked into the pages. i pulled it back, trying to set it right, when i noticed the signature hidden on the inside […]