A twin bed coupled with double the pillows – that is my every evening, alone. I lie down in the dark, replaying the reasons why I had to fly away from you and a future wrapped beautifully in a Tiffany blue box.

The winter last, he had called me a flight risk and strained to keep his distance. I pulled the rope, and he yielded – but that was for the last time. Those snowflakes flutter down across the world, and I wonder if he thinks about those chevron arrows as he scrapes the ice off his windows – like he had done a hundred times when I used to sit in the shotgun seat waiting for him to take me away for another night.

That was young love; so raw, flawed in communication but pure in intensity. In the blink of an eye I grew from twenty to twenty-three, and although I know better now, I wish I could have been that girl for him.

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