that's code for: "he's not here"

i think there's ice falling from the sky. it's cracking against the glass in fragments.

i miss him. i miss him so much. this is already hard enough--a hundred. what happens when it's a thousand? if i could, i think i'd i'd skip all this, the imminent separation, the difficulty. "ten years from now. you and me, our own place." i want sunday mornings. sun filtering through the blinds and drawing patterns on his skin. falling asleep on the couch together after long days at work. coming home to him. that's it. that's all.

just give me that someday. please.