October 14th 2019

The closer it gets to your birthday, the more impatient I get. It’s only a few days after my own, but it’s yours that I look forward to more every year. It’s the only day I’m almost guaranteed to see you.

I know that it’s selfish of me to want you to come around more. And I know that it can’t be done. But part of me still wishes that it could, and that things could be any semblance of normal. Although I guess this *is* our normal now, isn’t it?

I wish I could sleep through the months you aren’t here. I wish I didn’t have to feel every day and week and month that went by. I tell myself that maybe one day it’ll get better, but I’ve lost all hope of that.

It’s selfish of me to send you these messages pleading with you, too, I’m sure. I’ve fallen far enough to be this pathetic. You shouldn’t have to hear all this from me, so.. I won’t plead anymore. I’ll try to accept it how it is.

But I still miss you every day that goes by, Beatrice. Every single one.