last night, i drank and got drunk. that bitter taste of gin, so foreign to me, clung to my throat, making me gag and twist my face into silly, distorted expressions. i’m not one to drink much, but last night, it felt like the only way to escape—escape you. but even as i tried to drown thoughts of you in that burning liquid, you clung to me tighter than ever.

i guess i thought the alcohol would blur you out, make you distant, like a smudge on a window. but you were there in every corner of my mind, refusing to fade. my friend, who was drinking with me, mentioned his height, and i couldn’t help but laugh a little, because it’s the same as yours. isn’t that funny? i asked him to stand next to me, to see where i’d measure up, and in that moment, it wasn’t him i was looking at—it was you. i snapped a picture, stared at it, and imagined us, side by side. would we look good together? would we fit? would you feel like you belonged right there beside me?

they talked about their relationships, my friends. they shared stories, laughed, teased each other, and there i was, the odd one out—the one without someone. i used to think i didn’t care. being alone wasn’t something that bothered me before, but now, it’s different. now, it’s you i think about when they speak of love. how would our hands fit together? would yours be warm and comforting? how would it feel to have your fingers intertwined with mine? sometimes, i imagine tracing the...