I take naps in the afternoon. I quit drinking, unsuccessfully. I write. I quit drinking, successfully. I look at Tumblr. I think about new things to write. I think about how I should be writing more. I don't sleep at night. I take sleeping pills and I feel hung over the next morning. I stop taking sleeping pills. I have a lot of meetings.
I go over things in my head. I wonder where I went wrong. I worry about you. I write you an email that's too long and I say I know you'll never read it. I am still disappointed when you don't write me back. That makes me worry about me.
I have conversations with you in my head all the time. I try to stop, I can't. I go for dinner with friends. I don't talk about you anymore because nothing I say makes you feel farther away. I still cry but not as often. I'm pretty skinny again. I cut my hair. I am steady wondering about you, remember that?
I give your books away to my best friend and she takes them to Scotland. "Please. Take them. I don't want them." She leaves your bookmark on my dining room table. I don't have the heart to throw it out. I make plans for the future. I picture myself in a new life. In that new life, when this is just a memory, I don't think of you that much.
I want to say I am better for loving you, but I'm not yet. I'm just different.
I know that even if everything else in your life was corrupted, you loved me with more hope than you knew existed inside you.
As someone who loved you the same, I'm sorry it turned out like this.
