Milk & Honey

It's been 68 days since your car trip from Prague to Berlin for kebabs. People asked, "who drives 7 hours roundtrip for kebabs?" You would, and I would go with you in a heartbeat. There's no doubt in my mind about that. But I know I would insist on driving when Mahin pulled over on the side of the highway to nap in the middle of the night. I would have recommended exiting. I wouldn't have let you sleep on the side of the road. Would I...?

It's been 68 days since you passed away, and the world feels like a different place. All of a sudden I feel the burden of living for you resting on my shoulders, and it feels like I'm wasting time. Everyday, every where you're with me and yet I fear I'll forget the little things... your mannerisms, your perfume, the shade of your nail polish, how you tied your converse hightops (double around the ankle), your omelets, the songs you would sing. It's getting harder to recall those things, why? Is it because remembering them will make me miss you more? Is it even possible to miss you more?