Author Description

I received your letter in the mail today. It weighed heavy on a heart that had self-taught itself not to care. The months had drifted by and I had grown accustomed to your absence. I was learning to breathe without your hand in mine, without our lungs sharing the same oxygen. As I sat alone in my room and flipped through the thick stack of papers over the tops of my kneecaps, I thought that memories are probably the worst thing in the world. How is it that I am able to remember these things that now hurt me so vividly?