Eight months today.

I didn’t make it out of my pajamas.

It poured most of the day, and it still is.  I can hear the wind actually howling and beating against the windows in my bedroom.

I’m glad for pathetic fallacy.

I keep asking myself a question lately- if I’d go back to any part of my life and start there, if it meant you’d still be alive.  

So, would I go back to my miserable adolescent years and live it all again…just to know I’d get to meet you all over again.  Would I go back to some of the darker periods of our life together…a breast biopsy, a miscarriage, a miserable landlord in our first apartment, the bed bugs.

Of course, the answer is yes.  Because all of those dark times…they don’t seem so dark anymore.  Difficult, yes, but dark- I did not know darkness until this.

It is eight months.  I’ll wake up and do this again tomorrow.