A —

Ten years ago we wouldn’t have needed this. Ten years ago I would have been sitting next to you on a tattered couch. We would not need to scream across the void to have our hearts heard. We would be together, the way we are meant to be. Instead I am sitting on a new couch — ridged and unwelcoming. The room is dark, save for candle light. The music is old. I am old.

I find peace in these moments. I am building a house of them. I am building a house that reminds me of the person I used to be. The person I still am but so often forget to love. I am building a house of our love. Our love is an old house. Our love is a place of comfort. I want so badly to go back to a place of comfort. I have spent years floating and I am seeking solid ground. I have roots to set. I want to grow. Tell me, how am I supposed to do that without anything to sink into?

It is winter now. Nothing grows. We are frozen. Waiting.

I suppose I am out of words now, but I will never be out of love for you,