Haven’t done one of these for a while:

10:21 a.m.

the pain of this, the idea of me leaving, is sharper than the leaving itself will be.

i think of you, at home, scrambling to answer the phone when i call you at my lunch break, a ring of cigarette smoke at your head and our two cats running never-ending circles at your feet.

i’m pretty sure you will survive.

it’s the little things, the nuances of my eventual departure from the life we have built together for the past five years that are the most difficult to think: for example, the extraction of your extensive leonard cohen collection from my beat-up old computer, or the t-shirts i’ve bought you, soon to be more tangible to you than me, folded lonely and clean in the dresser we will no longer share.

10:31 a.m.

(his hand, his smokes & the ashtray i bought him when he moved in.)