This letter takes place in a parallel universe.
Dear whoever the fuck will read this letter.
I've started smoking again.
And I opened up the letter the way I did because I don't even know if you take the time out of your day to read these anymore.
I've gotten better at getting better, but there are things that get worse and that I can't fix.
I haven't slept in 137 hours.
Yes, I keep track.
I also keep track of how many times the sight of you in bed with someone else wakes me up at night.
And how many times the sight of you and sound of your voice makes my stomach drop during the day.
I remember the first night you came back and said,
"Somethings don't change." And you never told me what you meant.
And I wish I told you,
"You'd be surprised at the things that did."
Today is Thursday, February 9th and it is 3:40 in the morning and I still hear your truck on the side of my house.
I extremely and highly doubt you've made it this far into my letter, but if you did, goddammit I'm still in love with you.
And the way you look when you're half asleep and drinking coffee in your kitchen. I still drink coffee every night and morning.
I always set up a spare cup and make it just the way you like it, because I feel like one day you'll stop by for a cup or two.
This is the 9th journal I've filled up.