I am sixteen and I have misunderstood that love means nothing without action. So I cling to a postcard, because I’ve always had a thing for believing in words.
I am eighteen and I’m crying next to a stranger who looks an awful lot like an old friend and we’re both sorry. We’re sorry, it wasn’t suppose to happen this way.
I’m nineteen and I think I felt the world collapse and everything is silent but I can’t hear a thing. My journals have forgotten days of the week in turn for ‘day 1’ and ‘day 2’ and so on, and I promise one day I’ll stop keeping track.
I am 20, and I didn’t want this because past experience tells me I should know better. But 2 weeks ago I found a list I had written of all the things I love about you, and I realized this is what it feels like to love somebody and not have to hold your breath.