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It’s the good ones that wreck me.

The roof. The stars. His hand finding mine in the dark like it had always lived there.

The way he laughed when I said something stupid.

Those fucking blue eyes.

• • •

I want to reach inside myself and pull every piece of him out.

Every memory, every feeling, every place he carved his name into me.

But if I did that, I don’t know what would be left.

That’s the thing I can’t figure out.

I don’t know who I am without him.

I let him hold so much of me for so long that I don’t know what’s mine anymore.

I don’t think there’s anything left over.

Maybe that’s the real problem.

Maybe college fixes that too.

• • •

I don’t stop the pills.

I should say that plainly.

I don’t stop.

I start buying extra from someone at school so the prescription doesn’t run out before it’s supposed to, so my parents don’t notice the math not adding up.

I tell myself it’s fine.

I tell myself I’m just taking the edge off.

I tell myself I’ll stop when things get better.

Things will get better.

I’ll be back to normal.

I’ll smile again hopefully sometime soon before I forget how to.

• • •

I’m here trying because I love my parents so much it makes me ache.

The way they keep showing up. Keep leaving extra food on the counter, keep suggesting movies, keep not pushing — giving me space and presence at the same time like they’ve always known exactly how much of each I need.

I wish I could give them their son back.

The one who was full of things. Who didn’t have to work this hard just to be in a room.