Writers block. I start a sentence, I erase. I get sidetracked, I stop writing. And then I think about how people fall in love. How they learn about each other, how they breathe their lovers flaws, and study their movements. The gaze in their eyes, the way their heartbeat seems to calm down right when they reach the peak of their excitement. And I think about how I love and how differently it feels. I think about how the more I know about you the more I hurt. I think about those chilly summer mornings we spent at your mothers’ house in England. I remember waking up next to you, our bodies laced in your borrowed white silk duvet. I looked out the window. Your room overlooked a beautiful botanical garden across the path. You turned over in your sleep and I peered down wondering if you ever bothered to wake up this early, to watch the sun rise and cast golden rays on the narcissuses. And I thought that you probably didn’t and would never. And I thought about how you said you couldn’t be bothered with those things. And I thought about how you laced up your shoes so tight and talked about life, like it was a schedule. And how you slowly killed me with deadly phrases like “be realistic". And I thought about how the more I knew about you, the more I felt like I’ve made a mistake. And I thought about how I didn’t love you. And suddenly, you woke up, and you stared and asked me what I was doing up so early and I just sighed and said “nothing".