Be Mine. We poured the bag onto the kitchen table like kids, pastel chalky heart-shaped pieces scattering between coffee mugs and unpaid bills.

You slid one toward me with a grin, as if it were a proposal instead of pressed sugar. I rolled my eyes, but I kept it. That was the beginning, easy laughter and the feeling that choosing each other didn’t require bravery yet.

Text me. We didn’t need the candy for this one. My phone lit up constantly. Your name, your jokes, your Did you eat today? It felt good to be thought of in small, everyday ways. I saved screenshots like souvenirs, afraid even then that moments could disappear if I didn’t hold on to proof.

Miss you. The words tasted chalky when I finally ate them. You were only gone a week, but the house learned your absence quickly. Your mug stayed clean. Your dog waited for you by the door. I would bend down and tell her I knew how she felt. With sad eyes looking up at me in response, I knew I was not her human, nor her comfort. I learned how quiet evenings could stretch. I learned that missing someone is its own kind of presence.

​Always You. We said this one without laughing. That should’ve warned me. Always is a big promise, but I believed it because I wanted to. We pressed the heart between our palms like a seal, sugar cracking, hope intact.

Talk Soon. Soon turned into later. Later into I’ve just been busy. We stopped pouring the candy out and started eating straight from the bag, one at a time, not looking too closely at what we chose, similar to how we forgot to look at each other or kiss goodbye. 

I’m sorry. There were a dozen of these, from both sides. None of them fixed what they explained. Apologies can be sincere and still insufficient. We learned that together, sitting on opposite ends of the couch. 

Good Luck. This one surprised me. It shouldn’t have. Love doesn’t always end in anger; sometimes it ends in hope redirected. I wanted good things for you, even if they didn’t include me anymore.

Miss You. It came back around, like it always does. Different now. Softer. Less sharp. Missing you became a memory instead of a wound.

Be Mine. Months later, there was one heart left at the bottom of the bag. I didn’t slide it to anyone.

I didn’t need to. I held it, smiled, and let it dissolve. The taste was sweet, temporary, exactly what it was supposed to be.