I’m sick, at home, my head is hurting and all I can think of is her. She has made this world, this life beautiful, amazing, a place to explore and to be loved. I miss her touch, I miss her smell. I miss those lazy mornings we had, having Shakshuka, running to work, waking up in all the different apartments she had. Going to parties, playing catch-me-if-you-can in the museum. Making tender love, seeing her cry. Asking her to stay so I can comfort her. Loving every bit of her, all the small things, all the big things. Her shoulder. Her feet. Her intellectual curiosity and strong stance on issues that affect us all. Her work to better this world. I miss her.

I realized, lately, that as I became depressed I became selfish. I didn’t write her, I didn’t tell her how much she mattered to me. I forgot to tell her how amazing and gentle her love is. How it is the most beautiful thing to experience. That her love gave me a will to live and explore this world. I tried giving her everything I had, but I was failing, I didn’t examine myself deep enough, I wasn’t capable of making the jumps. I was afraid, and for what? To fail? I have failed now. I’m so sorry to have lost her. I’m so sorry I lost you, A.

I’m now here, alone, with my headache and fever and I know that if she was living here, she’d come to me and make me happy once more. I would love to have that gift, her love, once more.