I still thought of him far too much, spent too many hours not writing letters to him in my head, not wondering who the new girlfriend was, not holding on to his shirt when I slept. I missed him in my bones and my lungs and my skin. He was like the scents in the bottles, murmuring, waiting, eager for me to crack the seal. He doesn’t want you, I told myself. You are beautiful, the face in the mirror said.
