You can only wish that the borders of a tumour are well demarcated because that gives you the best chances of survival. But in reality, the edges are smudged in malignancy.
Sometimes, it feels like I can't make it through without hearing from him at least once. Some residual thing, I suppose, because I'm used to talking to him every day. I know I have no right to ask him to say just anything to me because he doesn't need to think about me any more, he doesn't need to worry about me any more.
I don't beg. As much as I want to. But I know that if I do beg, I will hate myself in the morning. Resolves weakens in the evening and I've been sitting, wishing that I could hear from him.
You know that something is up when you don't look forward to anything because you're just trying to make it through, one day at a time.
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