I still think about when we rented scooters and drove them all over the city at midnight, getting them too close to each other, laughing when we crashed, getting back on and doing it again. Or how we went to that place that sold cookies late night and I told you I didn’t want one because I felt fat but you said who doesn’t want a cookie? And you were right, I wanted one. You made me feel perfect and sexy, like I could have had another. Or how we walked around the park when it had Christmas trees decorated by all the local businesses, and you looked me in the eyes and I’d had three glasses of wine at the neighbor’s party. I wanted to say I love you but instead I stole an ornament off the tree decorated by the cops, and we dropped it from my third story balcony to see how it looked when it shattered. Or that night while we had sex, you asked me if I knew why you fucked me like this, and I shook my head. You said it’s because I love you, pulling the gag from my mouth. I said it back. Or how I bled all over your sheets and you laughed and I started sobbing and couldn’t stop even though you told me it was okay. I had to walk through the living room where your punk roommate slept to use the shower upstairs, and had to be careful because you guys had mice, and I cried harder in the shower because I was scared I’d fucked something up. When I got back to your room, my makeup gone, wet strands of hair sticking to my back, you had changed the sheets and turned on the heater and poured me a glass of water, and I cried again because I felt lucky. Even though you stopped loving me, I would do it all again if you let me.