Five months ago, today, our world disappeared.

What’s left of me daydreams, fantasizes, wishes, and prays. For waking up from nightmarish comas. For time machines. For miracles of physics. For deals with a God that I don’t even believe in. 

But I’m told I need to keep going. That I need to get through it, but also know I will never get over it. That it gets easier, but will never go away. 

They tell me that our lives are not worth much. They pass in an instant like roses wither. They tell me that the time that slips by is a bastard. That our sorrows are made into coats. Someone told me that you still loved me. Is that possible?

So while I wait to get through it, and for it to become easier, I do what I need to get by. I rebuild what was lost in the collateral damage. I choose new paths. I cherish what old connections remain. I take risks. I make mistakes. I stand back up. I hope that you still love me.

And just as it seems that some sort of happiness is still at hand, as I reach for it, I lose my mind.

And then I just miss you.