The sinking feeling that I get when I come home and open the garage door and her car isn't there. That summarizes it. I've spent the last two years building my life on a foundation of memory foam and the weight is now crushing the viscoelastic memory cells. Fortunately the wine won't spill as the energy doesn't transfer, it just sits on the couch and tries to convey through the cosmos how badly I want you back. I have to believe in telepathy now.
It would be easier if I had done something specific. One isolated evil is something that I can tackle with sword and shield. Nebulous insufficiency is something that even Quixote wouldn't ride against.
Periodically Dot sits and stares at nothing in particular and whines and I understand.
1 comment:
This is beautifully written Bret. I can almost feel your pain and for that I'm sorry.
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