“Know what growing up means to me?
Having to buy your own goddamn breakfast food. Knowing that you’re going to wake up and have stale bread in the morning because you forgot to pick up cereal or oatmeal or stupid pancake mix. Growing up means having a baseball bat next to your bed because your father won’t be around to tell you whether or not the creak on the stairs was a burglar or the house foundation settling. Growing up means changing your toothbrush every two weeks like you really should be doing. Growing up means scheduling your own appointments and walking into the building holding nobody’s hand. Growing up means brushing your hair for once and forgetting about how your mother used to run her fingers through it and call it a nest for rats. Growing up means pulling the weeds in the garden without getting bribed with nickels or dimes or the thought of a lemonade waiting for you when you come back inside. Growing up means learning to do things for yourself because they’re important. Because they matter. Growing up means looking after yourself because scraped knees aren’t the end of the world. Growing up means throwing out who you used to be.”
“I’m awful about your name. I still jump when I hear it. I still feel it rattling somewhere in my stomach. I think I’m jealous of anyone that gets to say it because it’s not my right anymore. Years from now I’ll be standing in a supermarket and someone will casually brush past me, your name falling from their mouth like confetti. I’ll drop everything that I’m holding. My knees will wobble in the way they only did when I was with you. Years from now I’ll still remember how your name tasted in my mouth and I’ll have to start missing you all over again.”