The notes desk

I've drafted this four times this month. Sending it before I find a fifth reason not to.

We're not in a fight. That's what makes it hard. Nothing broke, nothing to point at. Life got loud in both directions, we both stopped mid-reply, and now there's a polite little distance where the fast, dumb, easy us used to live.

Things I still do because of you: I check the tea shelf where yours used to be, like you might turn up this weekend. I say your joke at parties, under my breath, and strangers watch me grin at nothing. I save my good news until you can hear it first. The pile is embarrassing now.

So: I miss you. The actual you, not the version I explain to people. One reply, whenever. No debts. I've kept your seat the whole time and it never got cold.

---

First note is free this week. Tell me who you're bad at reaching, one true thing about them: [email protected]