By the time you read this, I imagine the silence between us will already feel like a season. And still, I needed to write you, because not every goodbye is sharp. Some slip in softly, like dusk in the hills of Barranquitas, where the air once smelled like rain and roasted coffee, and we swore…

Start by peeling back the layers—like citrus rind under your nails, sharp and fragrant. Bitterness clings at first, but underneath? Juice. Sweetness. Sun-warmed possibility. Slide your hand across your own chest and whisper: this body is still worthy. Say it with a tongue slick from honey. Say it like it’s a recipe passed down through…

I drank her away. Glass after glass, til the sky started leaning and the walls softened their stance. Til my reflection forgot how to look like me. Til my mouth forgot how to say her name without catching on fire. It wasn’t just heartbreak. It was protest. A riot in my ribs. Because loving her…

Now go.Your heart remembers the way.