It’s been 3 months and I have not fully moved on. Parts of me are still attached to memories of us being together. They cry out and groan while lying alone on Sunday morning.
How strange it is, the idea of letting go.
It was a 5 o’clock on a Sunday, and I was sitting criss-cross applesauce on the linoleum kitchen floor of a completely empty apartment. In Washington, D.C.
My spring semester had been a carousel of events, each deadline and dead end spinning closer and then becoming distantly…