I used to think I couldn't go a day without your smile. Without telling you things and hearing your voice back.

Then, that day arrived and it was so **** hard but the next was harder. I knew with a sinking feeling it was going to get worse, and I wasn't going to be okay for a very long time.

Because losing someone isn't an occasion or an event. It doesn't just happen once. It happens over and over again. I lose you every time I pick up your favorite coffee mug, whenever that one song plays on the radio, or when I discover your old t-shirt at the bottom of my laundry pile.

I lose you every time I think of kissing you, holding you, or wanting you. I go to bed at night and lose you, when I wish I could tell you about my day. And in the morning, **when I wake and reach for the empty space across the sheet, I begin to lose you all over again.

I don't know if I want you,* he says. But I do know I don't want anyone else to have you.

It wasn't good enough, I knew that. Honestly, I did. In my mind it was crystal clear. My heart however, was having a serious case of selective hearing. All it heard was, I don't want anyone to have you. And within that---was a glimmer of hope, a spark of optimism.