I slept in my old room for the first time in months. There was a lot of hesitation on my part since I had spent the last hour or so looking through your old notebooks, scanning them for little notes of your feelings and drawings –trying to understand what I need to work on. My room has always at some points felt like a cage. My heart beats faster when I stand at the doorframe and I can see us and everything that happened between us, the fights, the love, the anger, the laughing, and then it always ends with seeing you lying down on the bed, staring back at me. You’re smiling at me and those moments I felt like the world didn’t matter. I had hoped to dream about you. Sometimes it feels like that’s all I have of you. Roscoe kept me company but he kept trying to get on the bed. The room seemed perfect as a séance, but I couldn’t recall anything when I woke up. I just laid there, kinda empty. Staying in Rowland makes me empty. And now I’m stranded at Starbucks until traffic lets up. It’s almost Christmas…

I wonder if what’s lost can be found. I wonder if what has died can be birthed again. And I wonder if I’m actually able to make sense of this life with all its chaos and structures. Maybe it’s just a matter of time? Wup wup

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