There are days that it rains even when the weather app promises it won’t. I still choose to trust whatever the weather app says for the next day and the day after, but you don’t. The weather is always changing and so are you, so maybe I should be changing, too. Instead, I sit still. 

If I could confess, I would. If it was so easy to let go, I would. But I’m scared. I’m scared I’ll regret my decision, and I’m scared I’ll want you back. But you won’t understand, and there is no way to make you understand that.

There is love all around me, so I shouldn’t have any reason to be worried. Except the love that matters most to me, I am starting to realise, might not be good for me. But there is other love, too. Love is more than you. It is also forgiveness and my friend walking out in the cold to get me a Jo’s milkshake. It is also apologies and sitting with me while I finish my p-set. It is also care and the belief that we will do better tomorrow. But I’m worried. What if all of this other love is not good enough to keep me going and the only love that is sufficient is the one I need to let go of, at least partially?

Pink primroses bloom, and the skies are bluer than usual. I keep looking up and clarity drifts down like perfume. I realise I have misinterpreted people and misinterpreted actions, mistaken mist for smoke and smoke for mist. My steel tiffin falls out of my bag and onto the ground. I scrunch my nose as I pick it up, wet grass clinging to it like I clung to what I thought was good, real, forever.