Dear A
I was just journaling, listening to our songs, writing about the events of the day and stuff going on in my life–nothing heavy–when suddenly I was overwhelmed with this feeling of "Where are you? How can you be gone?" It’s Carole King’s fault, I think. It still hits me as a surprise I cannot comprehend. I’m talking to you, all by myself with no response, here in my journal. Clearly, I know you’re not here as you were. And yet it’ll hit me like a bolt out of the blue, and the head-shaking will start. I know the reality, but I do not understand the reality. It is incomprehensible to me, even now.
Shit.
I guess it’s a good thing we don’t have to understand this life to live it, or I’d be so fucked.