I’ll meet you at the bakery at eight if you want to talk.

I kept the pen you gave me; it’s in my drawer and I use it.

I’ll stop interrupting you; I want to hear the whole thing this time.

I want to rebuild from the plain truth: I was wrong, and I’m sorry.

I put fresh milk in the fridge because you always forget it.

I still laugh at the same stupid memes you send, even when I’m upset.

I’m willing to sit through the awkwardness if it means we can try again.

I left a note in your book where we stopped reading together.

I don’t have grand lines—only a promise to keep showing up.

I found your mixtape in my glovebox and listened to it three times.

I’m sorry I made plans without checking; from now on I’ll ask you first.

I want to earn back what I lost by doing the small, steady things.

I fixed the loose button on your coat and left it on the hanger.

I still think about the way you tie your shoelaces and it makes me want to be near you.

I’m nervous about asking, but would you meet me at the bench by the canal?

I kept the ticket stub from the film we fell asleep at; I can’t throw it away.

I want to rebuild trust by being honest, even about boring things.

I found that old receipt from the bakery and kept it because it reminded me of us.

I’ll stop scrolling when you text so I actually read what you wrote.

I remembered the haircut you said you wanted and booked the appointment for you.

I don’t have fancy promises, just a willingness to fix the small stuff.

I left your keys in the bowl where you always put them.

I keep replaying the laugh you made in the car and it hurts in a good way.

Your handwriting on that note made my day; keep leaving me things.

I regret how I shut down, and I’m asking for another try.

I still want to learn your playlist and sing the songs badly with you.

I miss the way our arguments end with you telling a dumb joke and both of us laughing.

Seeing your coat on the chair felt like you were still here in the room.

I’m sorry for the nights I wouldn’t talk, and I’ll do better.

You left your mug in the sink; I washed it because I like doing small things for you.

I want to try again, even if it’s slow and awkward at first.

I noticed your plant on the windowsill is still alive, and that made me smile.

I feel proud telling my sister about the time you fixed the heater.

I promise to answer the door at midnight when you come home from work.

I like that you keep one pillow out of line; it means you relaxed here.

I will carry your heavy bag up stairs without making it a thing.

I feel a simple joy when your playlist starts and I know your mood.

I want to be the one who packs your lunch when mornings are rushed.

I notice your penmanship and the way you cross your t's; it feels familiar.

I will stand in the parking lot and wait for you, no matter how late.