Thank god, The First Year is over. It’s the worst, apparently. It’s when you feel everything at its most acute. Things gets better, after The First Year. You start to accept, to miss him less. Because you have to accept in order to move on.

I’m almost two months in to The Second Year and I still haven’t begun to feel. The numbness hasn’t abated from around my heart. The shock of the night that he left. I’m moving through life, dodging the emotional stuff like those little bombs on Pac-Man. For what would happen if one of them exploded?