I’m doing really good and when I say that know that it means I still slip up but my body is less war zone violent and more ocean storm violent. It means I eat granola almost every morning with bananas and black coffee. You don’t stare at me from across the table and I can picture you there but it’s become less empty more full. Yes there is missing but the missing is not consuming. But of course there is also slipping and thinking and feeling. There is crumpled Polaroids scattered around my living room floor as if to fill the space. I think about there are signals and signs I need to stop believing in. But I listen to that song, god there is something in that song. It’s been 7 months and the thought of that someday soon it’ll be a year. Then 2 years. 3 years. That all of it will fade and you will become less and less here and how I don’t think I want to grow with anyone new because I’m leaving this town as soon as I can but there are a few people who I would keep when I decide to uproot and finally get what I want. You are there. I’m not sure if you know that but you might know. I think you might slip up sometimes too. It’s okay, my poetry makes less and less cohesive sense but you still find it.