Today is December 23rd.
I have just woken up with my eyes overflowing with tears and the room seems shrouded in mist.
Today’s entry in my diary reads, collect Florentina and Andrew from NYU, let Christmas begin!
How is it possible to keep see-sawing from thinking that Andrew is alive only to remember that he is not. That he is dead. Every time I “remember that he is dead,” I get punched, in the gut, the stomach, the face, my underbelly, I’m a huge bruise on the outside, and a red hot shredded mess inside.
And here’s the thing though, I am responsible for a lot of this. If I see something that Andrew would have liked, or not liked for that matter, I go down that “road” and dig up all sorts of memories. You know how it is with these things; they gather momentum.
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