“I’ve had loss in my life. you have to let yourself feel it. you can’t dampen it with drugs, and with sex. it won’t get you through.”

– Peggy Olson, Mad Men

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“don’t leave me here alone”

I don’t think that I’ve been in love as such,

although I liked a few folk pretty well.

love must be vaster than my smiles or touch,

for brave men died, and empires rose and fell

for love; girls follow boys to foreign lands,

and men have followed women into hell.

in plays and poem, someone understands

there’s something makes us more than blood and bone,

and more than biological demands.

for me love’s like the wind, unseen, unknown:

I see the trees are bending where it’s been,

I know it leaves wreckage where it’s blown.

I really don’t know what I love you means.

I think it means, ‘don’t leave me here alone.’

– Dark Sonnet, Neil Gaiman

what I wanted to tell Flo today (17/3/15):

  • I had kind of a breakdown last night / this morning. I thought about how wonderful you are and how unfairly you were stripped from this planet, there was crying and hyperventilating, it was a whole thing. today I’m listening to sad music and you’re on my mind. I don’t know, Flo. I haven’t talked to anybody about you for so long it’s like you were a figment of my imagination. but when I really thought again, for the first time in a while, about having had you and lost you I just lost it. I can’t believe I was so lucky but I can’t believe I’ve lived 3 months without you and I’ll probably live hundreds more.
  • the last thing that fucked me up (although not nearly this bad) was the finale of Call the Midwife. it’s so stupid, you never even watched it, it shouldn’t make me think of you. but these girls made all these plans together about their fabulous future, and one developed amnesia, and it was a death in a manner of speaking because those plans disappeared. and the other girl was left with that nostalgia for something that never happened which is all too familiar to me. the bereaved mother was just like your mum too, comforting her friend in her grief when she was the one who could have used the most support. I remember having a convo with your mum at the hospital about obstetrics. she recommended this book to me, about the physician who realised hand washing prevents post-natal infections. I wish I could remember what it was called.
  • E’s coming to visit me from Chicago over Easter. when she told me, she texted me something like, “you could seriously use some affection right now,” and it’s truer than I really have the stamina to think about. I can’t wait to see her.
  • I really have to work hard over the next 10-ish weeks. I don’t know if I have it in me.
  • I sort of thought 3 months down the line I wouldn’t think about you every day. I predicted, and I’m still counting on, the tremendous crushing guilt I’ll feel when I realise a day has gone by and I haven’t thought of you. now at least I know it won’t be for a while. and in a fucked up way that brings on all that crushing guilt at once, I also look forward to not missing you all the time. even though I never want to forget you. I never want to feel like you’re not with me. it’s just that grief is exhausting, and it’s been 3 months, and I am soooo tired.