3 in the morning. 

It’s 3 in the morning, I have been awake since 2. I hate this because I am always painfully aware that you are not here in these moments. The house is so quiet, I can hear the dog breathing at the foot of the bed. My mind wanders and a hundred thoughts invade. I inevitably end up at the memory of that morning, a Sunday just like this. I was coming in to wake you up, to get ready for the park, just like every Sunday for months before. My life stopped at the moment I walked into your room. The light in my smile went out that day. We were supposed to go camping that weekend. I grounded you because of something I can’t even remember now. I wish I had not. I try convincing myself, and most of the time I believe it would not have mattered. Our course was mapped out long ago and we would have ended up here anyway. But that doesn’t change that here in the quiet, I miss you. 

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