The morning is the worst. My subconscious is free to sabotage me. Thoughts and ideas of loss and memories just get to do with me what they will...and they will kill me.

I think of your new paintings and how I miss seeing them. Hearing about them. Getting excited about them. glowing with pride. So proud of you, how you talk forever about it, sound like a tool sometimes (that article, lol) but...all for a big picture of someone I find interesting and loveable.

I miss the paint on your hands. I miss the freckles on your fingers.

I am just sad. And on top of how much it hurts to be replaced, so easily replaced, I am scared I won't be able to find anybody to replace you. I hate everyone else. Not really, but...you know. It's just hard to know that no one but me, of us three, has to lose somebody this much. Has to do this process, try to figure a way out of the muck. You already are out of it! No looking around for you. You are happy againstillalready.

And I am just so fucking low. So low. My guts hurt.

Ryan Adams came on the radio at the bar. Your favorite song, you sent it to me in August.

I miss you so much. I miss you so much. I miss.