You

I'm sipping White Zinfandel out of a plastic cup. Classy, I know. I'm a class act. And here I am, in a hot tub on the roof with a wrinkly man from Connecticut, but it doesn't matter because I've got my White Zinfandel and the steadily darkening sky around me.
It's cold for a second, and a distinct memory comes flooding back. Maggie's lost in the Columbus Zoo, and it's my fault because I was supposed to keep an eye on her. And it's dad's fault for the same reason. It's never her fault. And I'm running all around Ohio, or so it feels, because I'm six. Or maybe seven? Whatever it is, I'm trying to find my sister because she's gone. She had a pink Cinderella sweatshirt on; she had to be the only one with that ridiculous monstrosity... And then, I see her. We see her. There she is, holding someone else's hand. Looking for me. Looking for us. She's found.
And then I leave my hat in the bathroom. And my other hat in the back of the car. And I'm back on the plane from Columbus to Chicago. It doesn't make sense. What is it, like, a 45 minute plane ride? Well, whatever, it's my first plane ride.
Monday, we go back. We get back on the plane to Chicago. It's longer this time, maybe because I'm older... But that doesn't make sense. It's shorter because I'm older. Those 45 minutes were 4.5 hours at six. Or seven. My concept of time has changed drastically.
Flash forward and I'm lying on my stupid stomach trying to type this. It's stupid because it always hurts, it's never not hurting. And they're trying to tell me that I don't have anything wrong with me. Well, they're lying. Or they're not looking hard enough. It seriously fucking hurts all the time.
But it's all okay, because I've got this love. I've got this love under my arm, I've got this love to keep me warm. I won't let it go, ever.

I can't stop loving you.