Sometimes you make me feel so small.

You take your hand from mine and lend me your gaze with defeated eyes.

I’ve heard this before, but not from you. From her before you. Although not from her before her, who, ironically, was the smallest of all of you. Maybe she and I didn’t let the space between us grow for long enough. We stayed up close, where she could count the freckles on my eyelid and I could smell her toothpaste.

Maybe everything gets smaller with time.