we were just sitting on the balcony.
you wore that stupid black hoodie again—
the one with the bleach stains you said looked "artsy."
I was talking shit about work.
about how I wanted to quit, about how I hated everything.
you didn't say much.
you just listened.
then you said,
"why don't you start that side project you always talk about?"
I shrugged.
"I'm not good enough for that."
and you looked at me.
really looked at me.
"Grey," you said.
"you're supposed to be brave."
that fucking line.
I've never forgotten it.
you told me to stop waiting for the perfect moment.
you told me to just start.
and for the first time,
I believed someone when they said I could be more.
that night…
you wrote a list on a post-it note:
"1. build that website
2. finish your resume
3. stop drinking so much
4. believe in your damn self"
you stuck it on my fridge.
it stayed there for years.
Hazel, you don't know this—
but I did all of it.
I started because of you.