I wouldn’t say that my love for Emily was romantic, but it was not entirely platonic either. I loved her like you can only love your childhood best friends. Some combination of sisterhood and friendship with a dash of romantic love tossed in to confuse things.

I want to believe there's consolation in reminiscence, that mourning can be cleansing when it's set against green and red lights and holiday songs and a sense of impending renewal. But when time never moves forward for us, it can never be properly marked and peacefully released. Instead we are the ones marked. Holidays repeat endlessly.