in a hundred words.

I wrote about you again tonight. I wrote about you because the moon was full and it reminded me of the nights we’d go looking for wishes in silent streets. I wrote about you because the shirt you left in my room still smells like you, and if I close my eyes and breathe deeply, it almost feels like you’re here. I wrote about you because we had pancakes for dinner, and I know it’s your favourite. Mostly, I wrote about you because I can’t believe that you’re really gone, and I’d rather write than cry knowing you’d never come back.