Both sides, now.

I think I could have held it together if I hadn’t spent Monday night at home.
If I hadn’t drunk a few pints with Piers and his constant smile after the conference dinner, if I hadn’t walked down Ashley Down road under a bright and almost full moon, if I hadn’t turned the key to open this pink door that I can never miss, no matter how drunk I am, to find Teddy waiting for me in the corridor, if I hadn’t woken-up in my own bedroom on Tuesday morning, just as Helen was closing the bathroom door, if we hadn’t chat through the staircase as we used to, if it hadn’t been a sunny Tuesday morning through Bristol’s streets, Helen, I and the traffic on our way to the university, if Piers hadn’t hugged me goodbye tight when it was time to leave, if we had took off before this bright red sunset that saw my first tears yesterday night, on my way back to Scotland.
Ever since I can’t stop.
And I remember now why I don’t want to go back to Bristol too often.
Because it’s too hard to leave.
But of course, listening to Joni Mitchell isn’t going to help.
This I know.