She Stole My Seat on My Private Jet. She Forgot I Owned the Sky.

I enjoyed being admired.

Because pain becomes less lonely when it recognizes itself in public.

Graham tried to call me forty-two times in the first week.

Then came flowers.

Then letters.

Then a voice message at 2:06 a.m.

I should not have played it.

I did.

He sounded drunk.

Or broken.

Maybe both.

“I keep seeing you on the stairs,” he said.

“I keep thinking about continue reading …