It was a mistake," you said. But the cruel thing was, it felt like the mistake was mine, for trusting you.

I want you to be honest with me. Even if it hurts. Although I would prefer for it not to hurt.

Why is it so much easier to talk to a stranger? why do we feel we need to disconnect in order to connect? If I wrote "Dear Sofia" or "Dear Boomer" or "Dear Lily's Great-Aunt" at the top of this postcard, wouldn't that change the words that followed? Of course it would. But the question is: When I wrote "Dear Lily," was that just a version of "Dear Myself"? I know it was more than that. But it was also less than that, too

And who am I to blow against the wind?

It’s as simple as that. Simple and complicated, as most true things are.

We love and we feel and we try and we hope.

Our lives change. Our feelings for each other change. Our bearings change. The song changes. The air changes. The temperature of the shower changes. Accept this. We must accept this.