Strawberry Fields (Forever?)

There is nothing left to say. I spend my days down by the water. I don’t cry anymore. There was a moment, just one, where it became apparent I’d never be that girl again. I packed it away with the practiced grace of someone who knew too much about having to let go. In his car, I’m laughing as we pass a strawberry field. It’s July and I waste none of it remembering what came before. The sun stays out past eight o’clock, so I can see every crinkle in the corner of his hazel eyes. It’s all going by so fast — this giving and growing. I’ll spend my last breath chasing permanence even as it shape-shifts and changes. I want something to last. Just one God damn thing.

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