I miss you sometimes. When I cleaned out the apartment this last weekend I threw away so many things that were ours. I put pictures of you in a box with all your letters. It's been months -- a lifetime. I've washed everything at least ten times now and your smell is gone except for that candle you made for me with your perfume in the wax. I'm afraid to burn it now. So much of you has melted off -- it's all that's left.
My weekends and nights are spent mostly by myself these days. I roll out of bed and go to work. My hours are still crazy but I've been trying to work a little less -- the weather doesn't seem to permit working seven days a week now. The daylight hours are destructive to the inhuman work hours that made you leave.
Still, it was nice seeing you for your birthday. I'm sorry we couldn't truly share it as we have in the past. Your life isn't a part of mine anymore and it's time we both buried that whole thing in the backyard and forgot about it I suppose. It's just that when things get quiet I don't know how not to dwell on it.