My dear boy, don’t you know? When I am doubled over in pain, eyes watering, puking, trying not to scream out of pure agony, that I am trying to think of questions to ask you. That between these waves of hopeless misery I am reaching for my phone to message them to you. Don’t you know that’s how I deal with it? When people ask me how I do it, month after month, day after day, toilet filled with the nutrients I involuntarily gave, I smile and say I don’t know, but in reality it’s you. Even when we didn’t speak it was you. You’re my strength and my weakness and I’m still trying to figure out who that’s possible.

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