There are signs of devastation everywhere.
My Spotify playlists (love we're made from porcelain)
My Myntra shopping history (black lace, three pairs)
My room, my plants, your imprints (the bougainvillea that blooms the least, the empty space where a "thank you for coming to xx" card used to hang, the monstera that brushes me mockingly every time I walk by)
My chat history, achilles heel of my life (the laughable number of times we said "no backsies", every sticker I thought was mine which became ours)
The devastation comes, wave after wave, when I least expect it, shattering the sanitized calm of my placid existence, leaving me breathless, arms wrapped around ribs, trying to forget, forget, forget
forget the feeling of being loved the way you loved me
forget the freedom of walking in while you worked and peppering your face with kisses, just because i could
forget the dogs we dreamed of
the white picket fence, the puns, the ease, the...sun
Just trying to forget the goddamn sun.
