You know the stages of grieving and acceptance? I wonder where I am at now. Possibly somewhere between denial and grief. Possibly with a touch of anger. One thing I know for certain: time is just slowly dragging me along. It feels odd not having a single thing to look forward to. Or anything that makes you want to delay time. I can't look forward any more to the start of a new year, but I'm not dreading anything either because the worst has already happened.
I can't stop hoping, but I have to admit to myself that he's already gone, most likely forever. I don't know why I still feel the urge to talk to him every single night. Old habits die hard, I guess. It just annoys me because it feels like I'm the only one who sits waiting, dying almost, to hear a scrap from him. Unhealthy, yes. Desperate? Also an affirmative. But I don't want to keep on initiating.
I am just so fucking pathetic.
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