Eight months today.
I didn't make it out of my pajamas.
It poured most of the day, and it still is. I can hear the wind actually howling and beating against the windows in my bedroom.
I'm glad for pathetic fallacy.
I keep asking myself a question lately- if I'd go back to any part of my life and start there, if it meant you'd still be alive.
So, would I go back to my miserable adolescent years and live it all again...just to know I'd get to meet you all over again. Would I go back to some of the darker periods of our life together...a breast biopsy, a miscarriage, a miserable landlord in our first apartment, the bed bugs.
Of course, the answer is yes. Because all of those dark times...they don't seem so dark anymore. Difficult, yes, but dark- I did not know darkness until this.
It is eight months. I'll wake up and do this again tomorrow.