(untitled)
Somewhere along the way, I think it was decided that it would be easier if we weren’t together. I seriously question that sentiment.
I would (still) give a lot for another chance. Aside from the fact that I still love her very much, it’d be nice to escape this misery.
Quantification
For the past two months I have been searching for some sort of quantification for what I feel, as if putting some numbers together might help me make sense of everything, or as if my circumstances could be modeled as an engineering problem from one of my textbooks.
But the reality is that life is more than just a few data sets and equations. There is no number system that can capture the amount of pain I continue to be in, how much I miss her or how difficult I find all of this.
It seems odd to me that it took me so long to come to that realization.
Packed Away
She is coming tomorrow morning to pick up the rest of her things. I won’t be here.
I am afraid to go to sleep, because I know that when I wake up I am going to say goodbye to what material remnants I have left of the best two years of my life.
That’s two years of my most cherished memories, packed away into two boxes.
But if you could see me right now, you would see just how much I need this.
Readjusting
I got used to having someone to tell all my stories to.
It comes with the territory, I guess.
