And your hair needs to be a mess

And then I flipped back to Facebook and there you were. I'd (of course) forgotten what you look like but that picture was so familiar. You are so familiar and so long ago.

And then I broke.

Sometimes you need to wear giant sweats and an even larger sweatshirt and your hair needs to be a mess and there is nothing to do but blast Bon iver and wander around the house gasping and sobbing and letting it hurt.

Then you make tea and notice all the ways you can care for yourself right now. So you do it. You make this space beautiful for yourself to enjoy. You wish him well.

Note how it sits on your heart. How his presence is absurdly lost but still so heavy.