I wrote about him as if the sky would fall before we did.
I've lamented his connection to my writing. To my guitar. To my passport. To my skin.
To lemon meringue pie.
Now to the repetitive morning heartbreak, like the uncomfortable backlash from a late night kebab. I wake up with a burning chest, sobering to remember that we've indeed fallen apart.
On the way we talked about many things. Tofurkey, lavender, trucks, Officeworks, The Age. Then we spoke about love.
"What's the secret to a happy union?" I asked, as I often do.
"Knowing what battles to fight, and what to walk away from."