I hate everyone born in August. why should they be out there getting library cards when you’re dead? what right do they have to celebrating? to be here at all?
every day I’m getting further and further away from the last time I heard your laugh.
my therapist once told me the second year was the hardest. now I know what she means. there are other tragedies out there taking up space. the world moves on.
the other night I dreamed of home, and how things used to be. I woke up, grinding my jaw so tightly again like I used to. funny how I didn’t do that when we lived together.
I know what I’m doing, reading thrillers that slip through my mind, books that I don’t die to talk to you about. Even keeping stories at arm’s length. Distractions, but nothing lasts.
I would have had a nice little life if I hadn’t lost you. Never knowing the luster of life with you.
I go to check a word, and the word of the day is elevenses. yes, I know. you’re still there. you can remind me any time. i just wish i could hold you and hear your voice, telling me about anything at all.
August is only three weeks away.