Thulio DaSilva

Maybe love is a gentle reminder, a home base, a random act of kindness.

We kept the things alive that kept us alive like watered plants on the balcony—cultivating friendships withered by time, tending to roots through which sprouted the sweet fruits of our labor. Fruits that survived the winter to thrive in the spring.

I fell in love with shooting stars and the moons of Saturn. I fell in love with the burn of bourbon. I fell in and out of love with a reflection.

I know our relationship has been on the rocks lately — well, always. Despite our shortcomings, you are still the one I call home.

The world has gone mad for better or for worse.

I let you go.