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There has to be a moment at the beginning when you wonder whether you’re in love with the person or in love with the feeling of love itself.

I have already spent roughly five thousand hours asleep next to you. This has to mean something.

The first three nights we spent together, I couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t used to your breathing, your feet on my legs, your weight in the bed. In truth, I still sleep better when I’m alone. But now I allow that sleep isn’t always the most important things.

I want to take back what I said about you being an emotional zombie.

I want to take back the book of artsy photos I gave you, because you didn’t get it and said it was hipster trash.

There are times when I doubt everything. When I regret everything you’ve taken from me, everything I’ve given you, and the waste of all the time I’ve spent on us.

“It’s up to you,” you said, the graciousness of the cheater toward the cheatee.

I guess I don’t believe in a small break. I feel a break is a break, and if it starts small, it only gets wider. So I said I wanted you to stay, even though nothing could stay the same.

But still, it was strange, to realize my version of those weeks was so far from yours.