The problem is not that I miss you all the time. The problem is that the memories that I had thought I had wiped away with my tears always hit me when I am least prepared.

Do you remember that evening, cold because of approaching winter, when you and I had sat in the dark wrapped up in sheets? We had talked for hours. About our dreams, about you, about me and about us. About a house, walls full of shelves of books and a small hidden corner for all the Mills & Boons.