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His body heat is the sun on my skin. His breath is new life, filling me from the inside out. And his words, his words— They are everything.
Songs are funny like that—you might not hear them play for years, but you still remember every word. And I think it’s because songs are more than words, more than notes, more than verses and choruses. Words fade and scatter over time, but songs tied to life’s most precious memories live inside of us forever.
The pumpkin puree leaks out of every misshapen pasta pouch, the sauce is broken, and the garlic bread is burnt to a crisp. Without a doubt, it’s the best meal I’ve ever had.
“Home is something I buried a long time ago,” he tells me, voice cracking with sentiment. A breath passes between us, a drumbeat. And then he whispers, “But I buried it inside you. Just in case I ever wanted to go back.”
“Even a tragedy can have a happy ending. Sometimes we just need to write it in ourselves.”
Life is unexpected, fortuitus. All we can do is appreciate the moments we have while we have them.”
“The loss of her almost killed me, but I still wouldn’t trade those years for anything in this world. I’d do it all over again if I had to. If I could bring her back for just one more moment, one more hug, one more kiss, I would—even if it meant I had to relive the heartbreak that came after.”
