I never wake up alone anymore.

There’s something that I have to do, and then something that we have to do, before we can ever speak again. Not that we’ll ever speak again after it, but if we do it should be by choice and not by some loose ended legal obligation.

Does this have a title yet?

And I guess that’s why I keep trying to scrape things, pieces of myself, and my life, and what I used to have, together off the floor, because I miss that. I miss her so much. I miss having a life that might somehow mean something.