A small something
Two months is a long time.
Chapter one
days since I last saw you
I didn't count the days on purpose.
They just kept adding up.
Each one a little quieter than the last —
and a little more certain about
how much I want to see you again.
Chapter two
Chapter three
You're gentle with things — people, words, even ideas. You don't force anything.
You're more interesting the quieter the room gets. Loud situations take something away from you.
You listen like you actually intend to remember. Not everyone does that.
Ordinary moments feel like they mean something when you're in them. I don't know how you do that.
Chapter four
Set the date we'll finally see each other again.
However many days it says —
I'll be there.
Chapter five
I'm not the kind of person who finds these things easy to say out loud.
So I made this instead.
Two months without seeing you has been fine —
in the way that things are fine when you're used to
carrying something without showing it.
I don't have grand things to tell you.
Just that you matter to me,
more than I usually say,
and more than this page can really hold.
Thank you for being someone I can be quiet with.
— always, me.
Chapter six
I didn't plan a playlist. These just kept coming on and doing that thing.
Chapter seven
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