Then the musical instruments appeared. Dad’s snare drum from the house, Henry’s guitar from his car, Adam’s spare guitar from my room. Everyone was jamming together, singing songs: Dad’s songs, Adam’s songs, old Clash songs, old Wipers songs. Teddy was dancing around, the blond of his hair reflecting the golden flames. I remember watching it all and getting that tickling in my chest and thinking to myself: This is what happiness feels like.

I needed to hate someone and you’re the one I love the most, so it fell on you.

But my hand has been clenched into a fist for three years now; it's frozen shut.

Except even at the start, when we were in that can't-get-enough-of-you-phase, there was like some invisible wall between us. At first I tried to take it down, but it took so much effort to even make cracks. And then I got tired of trying. Then I justified it. This was just how adult relationships were, how love felt once you had a few battle scars.

I get it now. I have to make good on my promise. To let her go. To really let her go. To let us both go.

It doesn't rain every day. Just every other day.

Traveling is not something you are good at. It is something you do. Like breathing.