i) there was that morning where i woke up and saw your toothbrush for the first time, lodged in the cup next to mine. i smiled for a week. 

ii) three months moved in, and you stopped buying your own shampoo and started using mine. so i stopped buying shower gel and started using yours. now we smell like each other. 

iii) we had four days, three small kisses and a canvas of stars above our heads every night. I could forget, move on and be sad, but then I wouldn’t be honouring the memory of you—showing me what was possible, telling me that I was beautiful, and for the first time in my life believing it all to be true. 

iv) your excitement over the smallest details: the colors blossoming in your garden tomatoes, our matching shoes, the greatest apricot you’ve ever bitten into. 

v) those first few days of wonder. the getting to know you’s, the hands that rested comfortable on the small of our backs, all those tiny touches, smiles and secrets we shared. 

vi) summer driving with the windows down. warm golden rays stretching across the city, through the cold glass buildings, directly into my tired eyes.

vii) remembering that it was once good. 

viii) waking up and looking into the mirror, only to find my naked torso covered in your tiny scratches from the night before.