I’m going to miss you, too. Whenever he finally did return to his fancy Portland life, I’d miss his cooking and his smiles and his homey little place. And fuck, I didn’t want that. The wine turned sour in my gut. I missed enough damn people in my life. I didn’t need to miss him, too. Maybe the only solution was to collect some memories to keep me warm after he left, to try to soak up as much of his sun as I could now.
