And now I’ve realized—this isn’t just the loss of a first love. It’s the loss of the kind of love it was.

There’s a cabin in my head, tucked into a pine forest where the light slants just so, and I’ve built it board by board since I was twelve.

The first exhibit is the hum of the old box fan in my childhood bedroom, a low, steady drone that swallowed summer nights whole

The overhead lights were always too much.

My greatest fear has always been drowning.