Today I baked cookies and I thought of you.
Why? I told you I was over it, and I am, I think. It doesn’t hurt too much to think about you and I don’t wake up with your name engraved in my mind.
But when I think of cookies, or a fire, or home, I remember that cold January night when you told me you loved me. It was the coldest night that winter but I don’t think I felt a thing.
— you were my home // lily rose.