i have not tried to crash my car in nearly three weeks, so i guess you could say i'm doing better. my mind sometimes refuses to resist the need for liquor that my body screams. my lips are constantly searching for yours; with every bottle i press against them, i can never seem to find yours. all of my jeans are too big now, my ribs are prominent and my collarbones sticking out like they are misplaced on my body. i guess a diet of popcorn and stale cigarettes will do that to you. i find myself constantly tempting fate in the worst ways possible, in a desperate yearning to find you again. i have gone absolutely mad from missing you. i write poem after poem, they are all unfinished. hours later, i will read my words, repelled at how they fail to do what i want them to. i still sleep on the left side of the bed, refusing to touch your side in fear that i will wake you up. i swear sometimes i will wake up to the sound of you in the shower, and then realize it's simply the rain battering at my window, mocking me. i remember asking my mother three weeks after the accident: "will i ever laugh again?" "of course you will sweetie, when something is really, really funny" that was the first and only time my mother ever lied to me, and i know she didn't mean to because she genuinely thought it to be true. two years, three months and fifteen days have passed. some things are really, really funny. i do not laugh. i only feel guilty that you are not there to laugh with me.