When I think about why we broke up, why you flew all the way to Croatia to let go of the juggling balls I made you, I know it’s because I was a terrible juggler. I couldn’t figure out how to hold something and set it free at the same time. So I dropped the ball. Convinced myself I was up in the air about you when really I was up in the air about me. It’s what we do—turn our bodies into museums of what was broken.
