Chapter Text
We used to complain together about how the house was too small for the both of us. We would look at our limited space and argue over who would get to sleep in the closet with our future children, and who would sleep by the woodstove.
The house feels too big, now. If I think too hard about it, the space threatens to swallow me whole. There’s a cold sort of emptiness that won’t warm no matter how much wood I add to the fire. Some days I sit in front of it and watch the flames weaken into small, flickering embers. There are times the wood remains gilded with an orange glow, as if hoping for the day it can reignite.
I wish I had its resilience.
I wish that I no longer ached.
-Edward Low