I hope this works. I've tried to establish some kind of routine - some kind of symbolic act that I repeat day by day in the hopes that it will mean something. The candle I lit every night at nine was a bust - I don't have the time management or motivation for that. The same goes for the journal entries. I mean, I still use it and it means a lot to me, but that's not really the point. I'm hoping that by writing about it this will inexplicably exemplify my dedication to feeling YOU for the rest of my life. It probably won't be a book. 98% chance (but no promises). In a way I'd hate using you as a book in the same way I hate the way people use Facebook to express their so-called grief or understanding of where you are now. I call bullshit. I hate that I feel... I have to validate how much I loved you. And I hate how much I envy those who have a right to. Frigging Jasmine Koss probably has no idea who I am and probably never will know exactly how big a part of my life you were. I did my best to explain it to your parents, but will they ever really understand? Will anyone? Will I? Part of the reason (I came to understand today) that I don't want to write down my memories of you (even though in the long run it will be so amazing - wrong word but best at the moment) is that I'm scared there won't be that many. It's like what I do when I'm studying - I fixate. I figure that because I remember one I remember them all. I know that's not true. I know there were weeks in which we'd sit in the quiet room together and just laugh and pretend to work and make fun of Meg, walk to dinner and back, do the same until checkin with frequent interludes that involved tea, more laughter and conversation - but I can't place exactly what was said then. It's like the memories are a concept - there but intangible. You know, the more often I tell people exactly what's happened, the less real it seems. It's like I'm lying. Or no - not lying, just disconnected. I don't feel what I'm saying. The words should have a physical impact on me - a kick in the ribs, or a heart attack or something. I don't know. I don't really know much at the moment. And I'm struck by how quickly the rest of the world moves on when I can't even begin to comprehend now without you, let alone the future. God dammit, C. You left me. I guess it's fair. In lots of ways, I left you. And at the time, I meant to. I didn't realize what was happening or how much you meant to me. And still mean to me. And will always mean to me. Fuck this stupid world. I'm planning on shattering everything that defines this planet because someday, god fucking dammit, someday I'm going to see you again. I think that will be a thing.