Just cooked the first meal I made her when we moved into our first apartment. Totally alone, boxes still on the floor, eating on the floor, watching something on a MacBook Air. I haven’t made it since she left, and today I decided to do it. I looked at the picture I took that day, and realized I still had that plate. Sometimes I wonder if I hold too much emotional value to these memories, if she even remembers that day, if she remembers how happy we were.

How happy I was then, and now I’m here eating it, third apartment, totally alone, watching something on TV, but not happy as I was with her, I’d trade all of it for that moment, to watch whatever we were watching on that MacBook, and her smiling at me, loving me.