There is a part of me that is a raw open wound, and when unrelated crazy shit happens that part hurts *more*.
Even though he really doesn’t exsist for me anymore and I have to pretend he’s not there, a co-worker stranger, in these crazy times it is him I want. It’s his counsel. And I’m not allowed it. I cannot have it. And I hate myself for wanting it. Him.
I hate that it doesn’t go away – that I haven’t been able to fix myself.