Month Five.

It's hard to remember, what all those nights on the couch downstairs were like. We would cradle so many tiny and delicate tendrils of conversation, snowfall outside, you in your carhartt overalls and I couldn't wait to hear the low rumble of the truck's engine stop outside, and your footsteps seconds later. Eye contact melted my resolve back then, we hadn't shared a fraction of what we've shared now but in a way we knew each other better during those couch nights, than in any of these nights of clanking recyclable containers and not talking and petulance.

Hearts break and crack, and grow brittle, and you begin to guard the remaining shreds with everything in you. I wish that a smile would still suffice. I wish we could have made the leap from laying the foundations of ourselves out for each other to building marble walls together. We are building them apart, and to shut each other out. I wish I could reach over and remember again what it's like to just lay in your arms for two hours listening to the rise and fall of your breath, ear to chest. We should be excellent to each other.