you are free to go. There is no one guarding the door, keeping you prisoner, preventing you from going. Go, if you want. I will not stop you. I can’t. If you go, you must take the pieces with you. The pieces of our life together — the scraps, the faded memories, the beautiful moments and the broken ones. I will not be the one to clean them up. You must take the pieces and, if you do, I hope you look at them, each and every one. I hope you see them for what they are: little miracles, evidence that two hearts can meld into a single, steady beat and continue beating even if they’re split someday down the line. Take the pieces and hold them up to the light. Look how they shine, how the whole world can change color by viewing it through their lens. Remember what it was like to see rose-tinted and everything seemed to be blooming. You are free to go but before you take the pieces, look at what we built before we break it. We have built mountains monuments meteors. What we have built is worth at least a second look. I may feel like a desperate grab, porcelain falling from a shelf, but porcelain is precious for a reason. Because I don’t want you to take the pieces when you go. You are free to go but instead of pieces I want wholes, worlds and completes and absolutes. I want you to stay and build more meteors with me until the universe can see how bright we burn even in the black depths of space. So stay even though, in pieces, I have set you free.
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