On the Q train back home, I saw somebody who reminded me of you. Grey pants, battered vans, soft worn sweater, plaid shirt collars stiffly raised. He wore black rimmed glasses, a hair cut kind of awkward, and he had your determined look on his face: a look that held all the ambition in the world. It was a look of quiet confidence, stubborn discipline, lucid reason driven by a brilliant intellect. It spoke of the determination— no, the need- to do things above and beyond, to go places, to create something, to be extraordinary. It was a look that I thought belonged only to you. He got off at my stop, and I hurried out to see where he would go. But he surged ahead, took a turn, disappeared, and i remembered all the things that made me sad. because your look, the look that i fell for, the world that it spoke of— is yours and yours alone. and I will always be on the fringes looking in, trying to catch up, wishing you could hear me say, honey, come home.

Day 6

Day 6.
This morning I woke up and thought I was gonna be ok. didn't feel as shitty as yesterday, had many productive activities lined up for the day ahead, the weekend was coming.. and i thought i was gonna be fine. i even kind of had breakfast by washing down some cinnamon toast crunch with soy milk. Got to the office and I got started on work. Everything was good until I had a moment of weakness and started editing that document of stuff I wanted to say to you again. When 11pm rolled around I could feel the despair kind of creeping up again, so I went outside for a cigarette. came back in and re-centered myself. Did more work. heated up my lunch and actually ate most of it. Then 2pm came and man, it got hard. I started to miss you again. That feeling is an unsettling ache at the bottom of my stomach. Thought about work stuff and things I wanted to do and I really wanted to text you and tell you about them. Thought about the weeks ahead and not being able to spend them with you and felt supremely shitty. I chatted up Zach on Gchat because when I talk to him I usually feel a little better. He told me to come with him and Ernie etc to a party in Brooklyn on Friday night. I thought about going but couldn't help thinking that I would rather be holed up with you in bed. Remembered all those times you used to kiss me on the forehead and we would laugh together over stupid words like "randy" or "papaya." felt a big rock rising in my throat and had to push it down. feel like shit again and the hour from 2 to 3 seemed unbearably long. It's 3pm now and I'm counting down the hours till I'm off work, but after that, what? wondering if you're also missing me. thinking you are and thinking again about how stupid and pointless it is for us to suffer like this when we could be together. whole body is sore and aching and feeling like this break up is sucking the life blood out of me. thought i would be better today but i guess the process is slower than i thought it would be. almost feel too tired to type even though god knows i've slept enough. thinking about you, babe. miss you so much.

number of iterations of the "begging you to take me back" letter i've written so far: 3.
number of ones i've actually sent: 0.
number of my friends who think i need to move on and we should never ever ever get back together: 3
number of my friends who've told me "boys just don't get it" and i should try again: 2
number of epiphanies i've had in the past few days: 1.
number of hot yoga classes bought in an attempt to fill my days with productive activities: 1.
number of tissues drowned in pool of tears: many
number of times i've said "how could you do this to me?!": 10.
number of times i've said: "May, you're strong and you're going to be ok!": 11.
number of outlines i've written for a post break up conversation: 1.
number of empowering songs on my "lucy liu water boiled fish is a warrior' playlist: 22.
number of unexplained social game notifications you have sent me: 2.
number of times i've wanted to call you: 5.
number of self improvement initiatives i've put down in my notes to make myself a better person: 13
number of people i want to focus on right now: 1, me.
number of weeks i'm going to give myself and you before the possibility of giving it another shot: 2.
number of shots i'm going to give it: 1.
number of times i will let myself be rejected: less than 2.
number of days i still have ahead of me, which will be amazing no matter what: infinite.