I feel as though I am falling apart – but quietly and when I am hidden away in my bedroom.
I feel like I have a limb missing. I don’t know what happened to it, where it went, what it’s doing, what it’s thinking, how it’s feeling. I know that I’ve had this limb as part of my life for 2 and a half years, and I don’t want to lose it – but it’s gone already.
I will never get to hang out with him again, never get to make him dinner, never get to laugh at our in jokes. I don’t have in jokes anymore. I can think about them, but I won’t ever get to say them because no one else will get them.
I think I did the wrong thing, I know I did, but he doesn’t think so. He doesn’t want to try again. All I can think about is that I didn’t try hard enough, that I gave up too easily, but there is no second chance. I don’t get a second chance.
I hate Sundays.