No, I’m not okay.
No, I’m not adjusting well.
No, I’m not happy.
Damn this rain cloud over my head. I hate how it pours down when I come home from a long day of distracting myself from my misery. It’s always worse at night, when I realize I’ve come home empty handed.
I haven’t made it to my own bed yet. It’s still vacant and messy with all my clothes strewn about. I’m sleeping in the guest bed that we had taken over, ‘our’ bed. Despite my loathing for the fru-fru furniture and the fact that I think my bed is more comfortable, I still sleep were we have laid. Some part of me believes that one night you’ll come home.
It’s all disturbing. It’s all completely unlike me. Especially this aching hope I have that wishes us to be together. After seeing you last night, that cold and distant affect that sent me choking on my own desolation. It got me to wondering if I should be moving on?
