…

Looking back, you now realize you spent the first year of it dreaming and the second year living. Your hair was red, then brown, then yellow, then pink. You changed it around to figure yourself out. Then you changed yourself to figure him out.

After a year, the people in your life started to fade like old photographs. He had moved away by then, and took your focus with him. Now you had to go too.

And who could blame you? This is it, you thought to yourself then. This is why.

You packed your car and said goodbyes. This is so much love, you swelled.

…

Years later, a different boy in your bed, you casually mention the days you lived in the desert.

“Why did you move out there?” he wants to know.

For a boy, you say.