I am panicking.

I am patching up and desperately traveling back to a distant recollection of a foggy memory. I am feverishly writing everything. Time is passing “us” by so quickly. I talk to the walls and pretend it’s you. I listen to old songs and think of things you used to. I stare at your things and will them to move.

There is such a stillness around me.

An awareness that most things we occupy our space with are lifeless. I often feel hollow. There is one thing that I drill into my head each morning that my feet hit the floor — you aren’t here anymore. I focus heavily on dates and times even though I realize time is leaving you behind.