Hiding in the bathroom for a bit where I don’t have to worry about the awkwardness of someone popping in to ask me a question while I’m crying, I think I’ve finished a bit of the roundup of the last 27 years. This will probably sound cliche, because the words lack the ability to harness my feelings. If happiness is love, then losing love is sadness.

Besides there being so many things that remind me of L, and there being no hope to avoid them, I have a few memories that would bring me incredibly joy, and happiness having that in my life. Now when sitting and thinking about them, they make me sad, a reminder of loss?

I guess, with realizing that the way I feel is perfectly human, normal, and perhaps unfortunately under-expressed, I see some silliness in looking for answers. Feelings are sort of a religion for me insofar I don’t try to explain love, I’m happy feeling it. It seems like people in my life that get close to me sometimes have issues dealing with how that affects their own problems.

Which is to say, it all makes sense now, and I accept it. I simply miss L, and that’s hard but okay.

And I’m drinking too much.