Everyone at the table is so eloquent and in-place. They all sip their drinks just so--their manner proves they have had years of experience outreaching just these few present glasses of sweet iced tea. Whatever I do, even something as normal as drinking, just seems inadequate.
They all laugh brightly and beautifully and I merely hide my face as I muster the bit of laughter I can. It is a day-to-day practice I am learning to perfect as the days stretch into weeks, the weeks into agonizing months. Agonizing months in a house of comfort yet an empty half of a once-whole standing person; a once-whole person lying next to a cold part of a bed.
The distance is becoming unbearable. Each mile feels like an eternity I will never see. A future too distant for even the psychic.
All I want is to be near him. It does not matter how often I remind myself this dreadfully dry summer will soon meets its end, I am lost without his comfort.
Misery is a predator slowly eating me alive.
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