And So He Did The

I Take Almost No Notes When I Write. I Have One Notebook - This Old Green Leather Notebook That My Dad Gave Me A Decade Ago.

The Truth Is That She Told Me She Couldn't Love Me. When She Said Goodbye, She Was Saying Goodbye Forever. And Yet. I Made Myself Forget. I Don't Know Why. I Keep Asking Myself. But I Did.

She Was Gone, And All That Was Left Was The Space Where You'd Grown Around Her, Like A Tree That Grows Around A Fence.

We Search For Patterns, You See, Only To Find Where The Patterns Break. And It’s There, In That Fissure, That We Pitch Our Tents And Wait.

He Died Alone Because He Was Too Embarrassed To Phone Anyone.