It's hard being left behind. I wait for Henry, not knowing where he is, wondering if he's okay. It's hard to be the one who stays.
I keep myself busy. Time goes faster that way.
I go sleep alone, and I wake up alone. I take walks. I work until I'm tired. I watch the wind play with the trash that's has been under the snow all winter. Everything seems simple until you thin about. Why is love intensified by absence?

I hate to be where she is not, when she is not. And yet, I am always going, and she cannot follow.