You screamed: I love you so much I can’t fucking breathe.

It’s too much, you said next. And this was not going how I’d imagined it would. My face must have asked the question, What is? Because, though my mouth was still frozen, you answered. You. Us. This. It’s suffocating. How is it suffocating? my eyes must have questioned. Do I really have to say it? you asked me. And I found my voice. I said yes

We already talked about this, you said, moving away from me. And we said we wouldn’t. It was exactly what I’d said two weeks ago, on my birthday, almost in this exact spot, moments before we stood naked in front of each other for the first fragile time. I repeated what you said to me then: I changed my mind. But before I could smirk, before I could

The inside of the book’s cover said: Words to keep you company whenever I can’t.

and focused only on how good the music was. How the teens in these movies were mad and messy mavericks, so moody and so much like us.

We ignored how there were no brown faces to be found

We were watching trailers of all our favorite ’80s movies: The Breakfast Club and The Outsiders. Dirty Dancing and Dead Poets Society.

Trailers over everything, I’d always say. Because the promise of something is better than the actual thing, you’d reply. Almost always, we’d finish together.

I don’t think about the empty gaps inside me that you fill. I don’t think about my sorrow taking up the space you need to breathe.