I miss the quiet of the old life and i don't, both at once, like the idea of a simpler silence is appealing but the actual emptiness… i don't think i could go back, not now that i know what it feels like to be full, even when it's hard, especially when it's hard. like cosmo, dragging half the beach back to the house with him, every damn day, and i used to hate the mess, the sand everywhere, but now… it’s just… evidence, i guess, that something happened here, that we lived, that we loved.