The Dictionary of Us

Lexy Russell

dear easton, it’s your birthday, and here i am again, falling apart as the amber light cascades down from the treetops. i know you said you wanted me to move on, to keep going as if nothing had changed, to pretend you never existed. i promised i’d listen, i’d try. and i have… or, at least, i’ve given my best effort. but i can’t forget you. i can’t forget your dark brown eyes, the way they crinkled shut when you smiled. or your little canine teeth which were ever so slightly more pointy than anyone else’s- like tiny vampire fangs. and especially the way you looked at me right before you said, “ashley, i love you.” like i was something special- something you’d never seen before. like i was the only thing you ever wanted to look at again. and it scares me, thinking of letting all that go. i can’t imagine living in a world where you and i are strangers. there’s a part of me which knows moving on isn’t supposed to mean forgetting, but how else am i supposed to get to a place where thinking about just three tiny little words doesn’t make my heart feel like a black hole? how else do i get rid of this thousand-page dictionary that you and i have been authoring for a year and a half now? a book full of all the words you ever said to me, and all the things i learned by just watching you, and all the memories that i promised myself i would treasure forever. i’m not ready to let it sit there, collecting dust. i’m not ready for this to be goodbye. we just ran out of time so quickly. and then you left me here- alone- with all the time in the world. i miss you ash

Sour-Sweet Memories | Jenna Collidge

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But I press on